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SITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MAY  TREAT  MORRISON 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

ALEXANDER  F  MORRISON 


ANTIGONE,  THE  HEROINE  OF  THEBES. 


(See  page  38.) 


HALF-HOUBSjr  •;,..,  ;m; 


WITH    THE 


;est  Foreign  Authors. 


SELECTED   AND   ARRANGED    BY 


CHARLES    MORRIS. 


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VOL.  I. 

GEEEK    AINTD    ROMAX 


PHILADELPHIA: 


J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY. 

LONDON:    10    HENRIETTA   STREET,  COVENT   GARDEN. 

1888. 


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Copyright,  1887,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 


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PEEFAOE. 


"While  the  literature  of  the  English  language  is,  in  va- 
riety of  subject,  clearness  and  beauty  of  style,  and  depth 
of  thought,  of  the  highest  merit,  it  is  very  far  from  em- 
bracing all  the  valuable  literature  of  the  earth,  nor  can 
any  one  attain  an  extended  literary  cultivation  who  de- 
votes himself  to  it  alone.  Within  the  locked  casket  of 
S?  the  foreio-n  lanffuasres  there  lies  hidden  a  rich  treasure  of 
human  thought,  some  acquaintance  with  which  is  indis- 
pensable to  all  who  desire  to  gain  even  a  general  knowledge 
of  the  names  and  productions  of  the  great  thinkers  of  the 
world.  Yet  few  of  us,  in  this  rushing  nineteenth  century, 
with  its  incessant  demands  upon  our  attention,  have  time 
to  learn  to  read  even  one  foreign  language  with  fluency, 
while  rare  are  they  who  can  read  all  the  literary  languages 
with  clear  appreciation.  Fortunately,  the  best  of  the  liter- 
ature of  these  languages  has  been  converted  into  excellent 
English  prose  and  verse  by  the  labor  of  numerous  able 
translators,  many  of  them  themselves  authors  of  high 
£  merit  and  not  infrequently  surpassing  in  literary  skill  the 
u.  writers  whose  works  they  translate.  The  ideas  of  foreign 
authors,  the  souls  of  their  books,  are  given  us  by  these 
translators  in  as  clear  and  comprehensible  language  as  that 
in  which  they  were  originally  written,  often,  indeed,  much 
more  so,  and  there  is  no  great  thought  extant  in  the  world 
that  cannot  bo  converted  into  intelligible  English.  As  for 
the  dress  of  thought,  the  style  or  peculiarity  of  literary 

8 


.434333 


4:  PREFACE. 

expression,  this  is  in  many  instances  equalled  or  improved 
in  translations.  Not  infrequently  obscurities  of  the  origi- 
nal disappear  in  the  English  version,  clearness  replaces 
cloudiness,  weak  expressions  are  transformed  into  strong 
ones,  a  halting  manner  becomes  a  fluent  one,  and  the  trans- 
lator converts  the  silver  tissue  of  his  subject  into  cloth- 
of-gold. 

There  is  no  satisfactory  reason,  then,  why  those  who 
speak  English  only  should  not  enjoy  the  masterpieces  of 
literature  of  the  whole  world,  in  versions  which  preserve 
all  the  value  of  the  ideas,  and  which  equal  or  closely  ap- 
j)roach  their  originals  in  beauty  of  rhetoric  and  grace  of 
exjjression.  It  has  been  our  purpose,  in  the  work  which 
we  hereby  introduce  to  our  readers,  to  glean  from  the 
broad  harvest-field  of  English  translations  of  foreign  liter- 
ature a  series  of  half-hour  readings,  selected  from  the 
writings  of  those  who  have  won  an  acknowledged  position 
among  the  world's  best  authors,  and  of  those  of  secondary 
merit  to  whose  writings  some  originality  of  style,  interest 
of  subject,  or  peculiarity  of  treatment  has  given  a  per- 
manent abiding-place  in  the  world  of  books.  These  selec- 
tions properly  divide  into  four  sections :  namely,  the  litera- 
tures of  Grreece  and  Eome ;  those  of  the  German  and  other 
Teutonic  nations ;  that  of  France ;  and  those  of  Spain  and 
Italy.  For  the  convenience  of  readers  we  have,  therefore, 
arranged  our  work  in  four  volumes,  each  embracing  one 
of  the  above-named  provinces,  vv^hile  a  few  selections  from 
the  literatures  of  minor  importance,  such  as  the  Portuguese 
and  the  Russian,  have  been  given  in  the  fourth  volume. 

It  may  not  be  inadvisable,  at  this  point,  to  consider  the 
peculiar  adaptation  of  the  English  language  to  the  transla- 
tion of  the  diversified  products  of  foreign  thought,  and  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  mind  to  their  appreciation.  It  has  often 
been  said  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  German  work  to  be 


PREFACE.  5 

adequately  rendered  in  French,  or  a  French  work  in  Ger- 
man, alike  from  the  marked  difference  in  character  of  the 
two  languages  and  the  essentially  diverse  modes  of  thought 
of  the  two  peoples.  This  objection  does  not  apply  to  the 
English  people  and  language,  in  both  of  which  a  Teutonic 
groundwork  is  largely  infiltrated  with  French  or  Celtic 
elements.  The  English-speaking  peoples,  therefore,  stand 
mentally  midway  between  those  of  the  north  and  those  of 
the  south  of  Europe,  having  much  of  the  depth  of  thought 
of  the  one  and  the  facility  of  expression  of  the  other,  and 
have  no  difficulty  in  appreciating  and  reproducing  alike 
the  solidity  of  German  thought  and  the  fluent  lightness 
and  grace  of  that  of  France  and  the  other  Southern  nations. 
Their  language,  likewise,  being  compounded  of  Teutonic, 
Celtic,  and  Latin  elements,  is  remarkably  well  adapted  to 
serve  as  a  medium  of  translation  of  the  literatures  of  the 
nations  named.  Thus  in  English  versions  of  the  authors 
of  Europe  there  is  probably  a  closer  adherence  to  the  char- 
acteristics of  thought  and  expression  of  each  nation  than 
would  be  possible  in  the  case  of  any  other  people  or  lan- 
guage. This,  however,  we  offer  merely  as  a  suggestion, 
having  no  space  to  deal  with  it  as  an  argument,  but  satisfied 
that  it  must  appeal  to  the  reason  of  those  who  are  con- 
versant with  the  history  of  the  people  and  language  of 
England  and  the  United  States. 

In  this  connection  a  brief  review  of  the  subject  of 
the  present  volume  will  not  be  out  of  place.  It  embraces 
the  intellectual  records  of  two  peoples  widely  unlike  in 
mode  of  life  and  thought, — the  Greeks  a  people  of  highly- 
developed  imagination,  of  strong  speculative  tendency, 
and  of  a  literary  genius  almost  without  parallel  upon  the 
earth,  the  Eomans  the  most  practical  people  of  the  past, 
caring  naught  for  speculation  and  much  for  facts,  with 
restrained  imagination,  and  nearly  devoid  of  native  genius 


6  PREFACE. 

for  literature.  Yet  the  literary  productions  of  these  two 
peoples  do  not  deviate  in  character  so  much  as  might  be 
expected  under  these  circumstances, — the  fact  being  that 
the  literature  of  Eome  is  little  more  than  an  echo  of  that 
of  Greece.  The  lanfjuaa-e  and  literature  of  the  Greeks  were 
ardently  studied  by  all  the  cultivated  citizens  of  Rome,  and 
their  great  works  of  thought  translated,  paraphrased,  and 
imitated  to  such  an  extent  that  Rome  cannot  fairly  lay 
claim  to  a  native  literature,  and  at  the  most  did  but  some- 
what sober  and  clip  the  wings  of  the  glad  spirit  of  the 
Grecian  muse.  The  practical  genius  of  Rome,  indeed,  most 
fully  manifested  itself  in  the  work  of  its  great  legislators, 
and  in  the  production  of  a  code  of  laws  which,  while  not 
properly  belonging  to  literature,  has  had  a  vigorous  influ- 
ence upon  the  succeeding  nations  of  Eurof)e. 

The  literature  of  Greece,  on  the  contraiy,  is  the  most 
original  of  any  existing  upon  the  earth.  For,  while  it  was 
the  fountain-head  not  only  of  that  of  Rome,  but  also  to 
a  considerable  extent  of  modern  European  literature,  it 
was  in  itself  an  indigenous  product  of  the  Hellenic  race. 
The  early  thinkers  of  Greece  were  undoubtedly  somewhat 
influenced  by  those  of  the  preceding  nations  of  Asia,  but 
they  received  at  the  best  but  a  primary  impulse  from  this 
source,  while  in  their  fertile  soil  the  development  of  the 
imagination  gained  a  height  and  width  that  have  never 
been  surpassed,  and  which  fairly  justify  us  in  speaking  of 
the  literature  of  Greece  as  one  of  the  "wonders  of  the 
world."  Its  development  we  may  rapidly  trace.  The 
earliest  authentic  example  of  Greek  authorshij)  which  we 
possess  is  the  "  Iliad"  of  Homer,  the  choicest  relic  of  jirim- 
itive  literature  in  existence.  Perhaps  contemporary  with 
it  was  the  widely  different  "  Works  and  Days"  of  Hesiod, 
the  two  undoubtedly  indicating  an  active  preceding  period 
of  poetic  production,  no  relic  of  which  remains. 


PREFACE.  7 

In  the  centuries  that  followed,  lyric  poetry  succeeded 
epic,  and  yielded  such  famous  writers  as  Anacreon,  Sappho, 
Simonides,  Pindar,  and  others,  of  whose  works^  however, 
we  possess  little  more  than  fragments.  The  next  develoj)- 
ment  of  Greek  poetry  was  into  the  form  of  the  drama,  a 
direct  outcome  of  the  Hellenic  literary  genius,  and  marked 
by  such  names  as  ^schylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides  in 
tragedy  and  Aristophanes  in  comedy.  The  origin  of  the 
dramatic  art  has  been  traced  to  the  village  choral  songs  at 
the  festivals  of  Bacchus,  and  the  chorus  long  continued  a 
prominent  feature  in  Greek  plays,  though  of  gradually  di- 
minishing importance. 

During  the  same  period  philosophy  and  history  made 
their  appearance  in  Asiatic  Ionia,  whence  they  moved 
westward  to  Athens,  while  the  art  of  oratory  also  grew 
into  prominence  in  that  city.  The  most  notable  prose 
writer  of  that  period  was  Herodotus,  who  has  been  with 
much  justice  entitled  "the  Father  of  History."  The  terri- 
ble Persian  war  had  now  passed ;  Athens  had  become  rich, 
populous,  and  beautiful  beyond  any  other  city  of  the  ancient 
world ;  literary  activity  had  developed  to  a  degree  never 
equalled  except  in  the  present  century ;  and  great  writers 
appeared  in  extraordinary  numbers.  Philosophy  yielded 
such  noble  thinkers  as  Socrates,  Plato,  and  Aristotle; 
history  was  represented  by  Xenophon  and  Thucydides; 
oratory  possessed  several  great  artists,  of  whom  we  need 
name  but  Demosthenes ;  while  the  drama  was  cultivated 
by  Menander  and  other  celebrated  wi'iters,  whose  works, 
unfortunately,  have  perished. 

With  this  flush  of  intellectual  fervor  passed  away  the 
greatness  of  Athenian  literature,  though  several  Greek 
writers  of  fine  ability  appeared  during  the  succeeding 
centuries.  Of  these  the  island  of  Sicily  gave  rise  to  the 
pastoral  poets  Theocritus,  Biou,  and   Moschus,  while   of 


8  PREFACE. 

writers  of  later  date  we  need  name  only  Polybius,  the  his- 
torian, Lucian,  the  comic  satirist,  and  Longinus,  the  critic, 
with  whom  vanished  the  exj)iring  flame  of  the  Hellenic 
genius. 

Of  early  national  literature  Eome  has  left  no  relics  of 
any  value,  and  the  extant  authorship  of  the  Latin  people 
begins  with  the  dramas  of  Plautus  and  Terence,  which 
were  but  paraphrases  of  Menander  and  other  Greek  come- 
dians. What  is  known  as  the  Golden  Age  of  Eoman  lit- 
erature extends  from  the  death  of  Sulla  to  the  death  of 
Augustus,  14  A.D.  This  period  is  marked  by  the  names  of 
Lucretius,  a  poet  of  marked  ability;  Cicero,  one  of  the 
most  versatile  and  meritorious  of  the  world's  authors; 
Virgil,  the  groat  epic  poet ;  Horace  and  Catullus,  the  famous 
lyi'ists;  Ovid,  the  elegiac  and  didactic  poet;  and  Livy, 
Csesar,  Sallust,  and  Nepos,  the  historians. 

In  the  later  period  known  as  the  Silver  Age,  the  classic 
elegance  of  style  died  out,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  diffuse, 
rhetorical  manner.  Yet  this  period  includes  several  authors 
of  fine  ability,  such  as  Tacitus,  the  historian ;  the  two 
Plinys;  Lucan,  the  poet;  Martial,  the  ei^igrammatist ; 
Quintilian,  the  rhetorician ;  and  Persius  and  Juvenal,  the 
satirists.  With  its  close  meritorious  Eoman  literature 
vanished,  and  the  cloud  of  the  "  Dark  Ages"  of  human 
thought  settled  slowly  down  upon  the  earth,  not  to  be  lifted 
until  more  than  a  thousand  years  had  passed. 

In  conclusion  we  offer  our  thanks  to  the  wide  circle 
of  authors,  translators,  and  publishers  to  whom  wo  aro 
indebted  for  the  substance  of  our  work,  and  venture  to 
hope  that  these  half-hour  readings  may  awaken  in  many 
the  desire  for  a  wider  acquaintance  with  foreign  authors, 
and  thus  bear  their  share  in  that  broadening  of  American 
culture  which  is  one  of  the  most  promising  indications  of 
recent  years. 


OONTEJ^TTS  OF  YOL.  I. 


SUBJECT.                                                                   AUTHOR.  PAQB 

The  Capture  of  Babylon  by  Cyrus    .    .   .  Herodotus      13 

The  Syraeusan  Gossips Theocritus      21 

On  Old  Age Cicero      28 

The  Condemnation  of  Autigoue    ....  Sophocles 37 

Alexander  in  India      Arrian 45 

A  Cluster  of  Odes Horace 53 

The  Death  of  Socrates Plato 64 

The  Lament  for  Adonis Bion      72 

Elevation  of  Thought Longinus      17 

The  Pot  of  Gold Pladtus 83 

The  Plague  at  Athens Thdcydides 90 

Lyric  Fragments Various 97 

Equanimity Archilochus 97 

The  Turns  of  Fortune "              98 

The  Mind  of  Man "              98 

Two  Military  Portraits "              98 

The  Duty  of  the  Youthful  Patriot    .    .  TyRTyEUS      99 

A  Procession Stesichorus 100 

The  End  of  Man "              100 

Poverty      Alc.eus 100 

A  Convivial  Song "          101 

Happiness     Solon 101 

The  Wanderer's  Return  Home  ....  Theognis 102 

Lamentation  of  Danae Simonides 103 

Virtue "             104 

On  Anacreon "             104 

Epitaph  of  the  Spartan  Heroes     ...         "             104 

On  a  Rural  Image  of  Pan Plato 105 

On  a  Sleeping  Cupid "        105 

A  Lover's  Wish "        105 

Epitaph  on  Aristophanes "        106 

Hymn  to  Virtue Aristotle 106 

9 


10  CONTENTS. 

SUBJECT.                                                                    AUTHOR.  PAOK 

The  Second  Olynthian  Oration Demosthenes 107 

The  Death  of  Patroclus Homer 116 

Hector  and  Andromache "        124 

The  Night  Watch "        127 

Man  in  Ancient  Natural  History     .    .    .  Pliny  the  Elder 128 

Prometheus  Bound j3Eschylus 136 

The  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand    .    .    .  Xenophon 145 

Lays  of  Love  and  Wine Anacreon 158 

The  Humor  of  Oratory Quintilian 165 

On  the  Death  of  His  Son "            171 

Latin  Epic  Poetry Various 173 

Characters  of  Pompey  and  Cffisar     .    .  Lijcan 174 

Crossing  the  Rubicon "       176 

From  the  Thebaid Statius 178 

Ancient  Fables jEsop  and  Ph^drus 181 

The  Creation  of  Pandora Hesiod 185 

The  Battle  of  Jupiter  and  the  Giants  .    .       "       188 

A  Philosopher's  Defence Socrates 191 

The  Qualifications  of  a  Ruler "          197 

Scene  from  "  The  Knights" Aristophanes 200 

Parabasis  from  "  The  Birds" "                205 

The  Eruption  of  Vesuvius Pliny  the  Younger 206 

The  Death  of  Dido Virgil 215 

Praise  of  Rural  Life "       225 

The  Bee  Community "       226 

The  Auction  of  Philosophers Lucian 227 

Poems  of  Passion Sappho 235 

The  Ancient  Gauls  and  Germans      .    .    .  C^sar      ....        239 

The  Fair  Andrian Terence 246 

The  Oratory  of  Athens Various    .    .    .    .  • 258 

From  the  Oration  against  Eratosthenes  Lysias 259 

Athenian  Eloquence Isocrates 262 

From  the  Oration  to  Demonicus    ...          "            263 

From  the  Speech  on  the  Estate  of  Di- 

cseogenes IsjEus 264 

•  From  the  Funeral  Oration Hypereides 266 

The  Realm  of  Dreams Lucretius 268 

Primitive  Mankind "            270 

In  Praise  of  Philosophy "             272 

The  Conditions  of  Mentality Aristotle 273 

Virtue  the  True  Source  of  Happiness  .    .          "            277 

The  Disposition  of  the  Rich "            279 


CONTENTS.  11 

SUBJECT.  AUTHOR.  PAGE 

A  Group  of  Epigrams Martial 280 

The  Daughter  of  Virginius Livr 285 

From  the  First  Pythian  Odo Pindar 295 

From  the  Second  Olympic "           301 

From  the  Eighth  Nemean      "           302 

Antony  and  Cleopatra PLUTARcn 303 

Comedy  Remnants Various 313 

The  Days  of  Plutus Puerecrates 314 

The  Parasite ...  Antiphanes 315 

The  Pest  of  Love Aristophon 317 

Words  of  Wisdom Menandeb       317 

Woman  a  Plague "               318 

Sleepless  Wealth "               318 

The  Happiest  Man "               318 

Philosophical  Wisdom Epictetus 319 

"                "          Antoninus 322 

The  Growth  of  Luxury Juvenal 325 

The  Emperor  Titus Suetonius 332 

Roman  Lyrics Various 338 

To  Lesbia's  Sparrow Catullus 338 

Elegy  on  the  Sparrow "            339 

To  the  Peninsula  of  Sirmio "            339 

To  Himself "            340 

To  Delia Tieullus 341 

Hope "          343 

To  Cynthia Propertius 344 

Love's  Effigy "              345 

The  Oration  "  For  the  Crown" ^schines  and  Demosthenes   .  346 

Scene  from  the  "  Orestes" Euripides 355 

The  Defence  of  Syracuse  by  Archimedes  Polybius 301 

Jason  and  Medea Apollonius  Rhodius     ....  367 

Philosophical  Consolations Various 373 

Praise  of  Poverty Apuleids 373 

A  Philosopher's  Answer Aulus  Gellius 375 

The  Instability  of  Fame Boethius      377 

Wealth  is  not  Worth "              373 

The  Reproach  of  Idleness Persius 379 

Every-Day  Characters Theophrastus 385 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Bion Moschus 390 

The  Charm  of  Homo  Life "          391 

Love's  Perplexities "          392 

The  Fall  of  Nero      Tacitus 392 


12  CONTENTS. 

SUBJECT.                                                                 AUTHOR.  PAOB 

Greek  Anthology      Various 401 

The  Folly  of  Anger Seneca 407 

Baucis  and  Philemon Ovid      413 

A  Successful  Stratagem Sallust 420 

Hymn  on  the  Bath  of  Minerva     ....  Callimachos 425 

Historical  Selections Various 431 

Aristides Cornelius  Nepos 431 

Cicero  and  Antony Velleius  Paterculus  ....  433 

Correspondence    between    Darius   and 

Alexander      Quintus  Curtius 434 

The  Battle  of  Cannae      Annjsus  Florus 435 

Comparison  of  Philip  and  Alexander  .  Justin       437 

Dialogues  of  the  Dead Lucian 439 

The  Wisdom  of  Cyrus Xenophon 446 

The  Meeting  of  Ulysses  and  Penelope    .  Homer      453 

Themistocles  at  Salamis      Plutarch 462 

From  the  "  Orations  against  Verres"  .    .  Cicero      475 

The  Battle  of  Lake  Trasimenus    ....  Livy 482 

The  Burning  of  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem  Joseph  us      492 

From  the  Idyls Theocritus 502 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


VOL.  I. 

PAGE 

Antigone,  the  Heroine  of  Thebes Froniisplece. 

The  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache 125 

Julius  Cesar 174 

Sappho  and  Alc^us 23G 

The  Galley  of  Cleopatra 307 

The  Arch  of  Titus 334 


HALF-HOURS 


WITH   THE 


BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS. 


THE  CAPTURE  OF  BABYLON  BY  CYRUS. 

HERODOTUS. 

[The  oldest  historical  work  which  now  exists  as  a  whole,  perhaps  the 
earliest  of  special  merit  ever  written,  is  that  of  Herodotus,  a  Greek  histo- 
rian, born  at  Halicarnassus,  in  Caria,  about  484  B.C.  For  many  years 
of  his  life  he  travelled  extensively,  in  search  of  materials  for  his  pro- 
jected work,  and  to  him  we  owe  much  of  our  knowledge  of  the  history 
and  customs  of  the  ancient  Persians,  Egyptians,  and  other  nations  of 
that  period.  His  work  is  in  nine  books,  to  which  he  has  given  the 
names  of  the  nine  Muses.  Its  main  object  is  to  describe  the  war  between 
the  Greeks  and  the  Persians,  but  its  careful  and  accurate  description 
of  the  countries  and  peoples  which  the  author  had  himself  visited  con- 
stitutes its  most  valuable  feature.  In  style  it  is  easy,  graceful,  and 
flowing,  but  it  is  awkward  and  discursive  in  arrangement,  and  its  chief 
literary  excellence  lies  in  the  lively  vigor  of  its  narrative.  We  select, 
from  the  translation  by  Isaac  Taylor,  a  description  of  ancient  Babylon, 
and  of  its  capture  by  Cyrus,  in  538  B.C.] 

Assyria  contains  many  large  cities ;  but  of  these  Baby- 
lon, to  which,  after  the  destruction  of  Nineveh,  the  seat 
of  government  was  removed,  is  by  far  the  most  renowned 
and  the  most  strongly  fortified.  Babylon  is  situated  in 
an  extensive  plain.  Each  side  of  the  city,  which  forms  a 
I.  2  13 


14  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Herodotus 

square,  measures  one  hundred  and  twenty  stadia  [about 
fourteen  miles],  making  the  entii-e  circuit  of  the  city  four 
hundred  and  eighty  stadia : — such  is  the  magnitude  of  this 
city  Babylon !  and  in  magnificence  also  it  surpassed  every 
city  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge.  It  is  surrounded 
by  a  trench,  deep,  wide,  and  full  of  water.  Within  this 
is  a  wall,  the  width  of  which  is  fifty  royal  cubits,  and  its 
height  two  hundred  cubits.*  The  royal  cubit  exceeds  the 
common  measure  by  three  fingers'  breadth. 

It  is  proper  I  should  say  in  what  manner  the  earth  re- 
moved from  the  trench  was  disposed  of,  and  how  the  wall 
was  constructed.  The  earth,  as  fast  as  it  was  removed 
from  the  trench,  was  converted  into  bricks  and  baked  in 
furnaces :  when  thus  prepared,  melted  bitumen  was  used 
instead  of  mortar ;  and  between  every  thirtieth  course  of 
bricks  there  was  inserted  a  layer  of  reeds.  The  sides  of 
the  trench  were  first  lined  with  brick-work,  and  then  the 
wall  raised  in  the  manner  described.  On  the  upper  edges 
of  the  wall,  and  oj)posite  to  one  another,  were  constructed 
turrets  ;  between  these  tirrrets  a  space  was  left  wide  enough 
for  a  chariot  and  four  horses  to  pass  and  turn.  In  the 
walls  were  one  hundred  gates,  all  of  brass,  with  posts  and 
upper  lintels  of  the  same.  Eight  days'  journey  from  Baby- 
lon is  a  city  named  Is,  near  which  runs  a  small  river  of  the 
same  name,  discharging  itself  into  the  Euphrates ;  this 
river  brings  down  with  its  waters  clots  of  bitumen  in  large 
quantities.  From  this  source  was  derived  the  bitumen  used 
in  cementing  the  walls  of  Babylon. 

Such  are  the  fortifications  of  Babylon.  The  city  is 
divided  into  two  portions  by  the  river  Euphrates,  which 
runs  through  the  midst  of  it.  This  river  rises  in  Armenia, 
and  throughout  its  course   is  wide,  deep,  and  swift;   it 

*  Eighty-five  feet  wide  and  three  hundred  and  thirty-five  high. 


Herodotus]  CAPTURE  OF  BABYLON  BY  CYRUS.  15 

emj)tie8  itself  into  the  Eed  Sea  [the  Persian  Gulf].  Each 
of  the  city  walls  is  produced  to  the  river,  where  it  makes 
an  angle,  and,  with  a  coating  of  burnt  bricks,  lines  the 
sides  of  the  river.  The  city  is  filled  with  houses  of  three 
or  four  stories,  forming  streets  in  straight  lines,  and  run- 
ning parallel  with  each  other :  the  ci'oss  streets  opening 
upon  the  river  through  as  many  smaller  brazen  gates, 
placed  in  the  breastwork  of  the  river  walls.  Within  the 
principal  wall  just  mentioned  is  a  second,  not  much  inferior 
to  the  first  in  strength,  though  less  in  width. 

In  the  centre  of  each  portion  of  the  city  is  an  enclosed 
space, — the  one  occupied  by  the  royal  palace,  a  building 
of  vast  extent  and  great  strength  ;  in  the  other  stands  the 
temple  of  Jupiter  Belus,  with  its  brazen  gates,  remaining  in 
my  time :  it  is  a  square  structure ;  each  side  measures  two 
stadia.  "Within  the  enclosure  is  erected  a  solid  iower,  meas- 
uring a  stadium  both  in  width  and  depth ;  upon  this  tower 
is  raised  another,  and  then  another,  and  another,  making 
eight  in  all.  The  ascent  is  by  a  path  which  is  formed  on 
the  outside  of  the  towers;  midway  in  the  ascent  is  a  rest- 
ing-j)lace,  furnished  with  easy-chairs,  in  which  those  who 
ascend  repose  themselves.  On  the  summit  of  the  topmost 
tower  stands  a  large  temple ;  and  in  this  temple  is  a  great 
couch,  handsomely  fitted  up ;  and  near  it  stands  a  golden 
table :  no  statue  whatever  is  erected  in  the  temple,  nor  does 
any  man  ever  pass  the  night  there ;  but  a  woman  only,  chosen 
from  the  people  by  the  god,  as  the  Chaldeans,  who  arc  the 
priests  of  the  temple,  afiirm.  The  same  persons  say — though 
I  give  no  credit  to  the  story — that  the  god  himself  comes 
to  the  temple  and  reposes  on  the  bed,  in  like  manner  as  at 
Thebes  in  Egypt,  where  also,  in  the  temple  of  Jupiter,  a 
woman  passes  the  night.  A  similar  custom  is  observed  at 
Pataris,  in  Lycia,  where  there  is  at  times  an  oracle,  on  which 
occasions  the  priestess  is  shut  up  by  night  in  the  temple. 


16  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Herodotus 

Within  the  precincts  of  the  temple  at  Babylon  there  is 
a  smaller  sacred  edifice  on  the  ground,  containing  an  im- 
mense golden  statue  of  Jujoiter  in  a  sitting  posture :  around 
the  statue  are  large  tables,  which,  with  the  steps  and  throne, 
are  all  of  gold,  and,  as  the  Chaldeans  affirm,  contain  eight 
hundred  talents  of  gold.  Without  this  edifice  is  a  golden 
altar ;  there  is  also  another  altar  of  great  size,  on  which 
are  off'ered  full-grown  animals :  upon  the  golden  altar  it  is 
not  lawful  to  offer  any  sacrifices  except  sucklings.  Once 
in  every  year,  when  the  festival  of  this  god  is  celebrated, 
the  Chaldeans  burn  upon  the  greater  altar  a  thousand 
talents  of  frankincense.  There  was  also,  not  long  since, 
in  this  sacred  enclosure  a  statue  of  solid  gold,  twelve  cubits 
in  height ;  at  least  so  the  Chaldeans  affirm :  I  did  not  my- 
self see  it.  This  figure  Darius  Hystaspes  would  fain  have 
taken,  but  dared  not  execute  his  wishes ;  but  his  son  Xerxes 
not  only  took  it,  but  put  to  death  the  priests  who  endeav- 
ored to  prevent  its  removal.  Such  was  the  magnificence 
of  this  temple,  which  contained  also  many  private  offerings. 

Of  this  Babylon  there  were  several  monarchs — as  I  shall 
mention  in  my  history  of  the  Assyrians — who  adorned  the 
city  and  its  temj)les.  Among  these  two  women  must  be 
mentioned.  The  former,  named  Semiramis,  reigned  five 
generations  before  the  latter.  This  queen  raised  an  em- 
bankment worthy  of  admiration  through  the  plain  to  con- 
fine the  river,  which  heretofore  often  spread  over  the  level 
like  a  lake.  The  latter  of  these  two  queens,  named  Nitocris, 
excelled  the  former  in  intelligence :  she  left  monuments, 
some  of  which  I  must  describe.  Seeing  the  Medes  already 
possessed  of  extensive  empire,  and  restlessly  extending 
their  power,  by  taking  city  after  city,  among  which  was 
Nineveh,  she  resolved  in  good  time  to  secure  herself  against 
them  in  the  best  manner  possible.  In  the  first  place,  there- 
fore, as  the  river  Euphrates  ran  in  a  straight  course  through 


Hkrodotus]  capture  OF  BABFLON  BY  CYRUS.  17 

the  city,  she  formed  excavations  at  a  distance  above  it,  by 
which  means  its  course  became  so  tortuous  that  it  three 
times  j)assed  a  certain  town  of  Assyria,  called  Ardericca ; 
travellers  from  our  sea  [the  Mediterranean],  in  descending 
the  Euphrates  towards  Babylon,  three  times  arrive  at  that 
town  in  the  course  of  three  days.  She  also  raised  both 
banks  of  the  river  to  an  amazinc;  heisrht  and  thickness. 
At  some  distance  above  Babylon,  and  near  the  river,  she 
dug  a  reservoir  in  the  marsh,  of  such  depth  as  to  drain  it. 
The  width  of  this  excavation  was  such  as  to  make  its  circuit 
four  hundred  and  twenty  stadia.  The  earth  removed  from 
it  was  taken  to  raise  the  banks  of  the  river :  this  done,  she 
brought  stones,  with  which  the  sides  of  the  lake  were  lined. 
Both  these  works — the  diverting  of  the  river  and  the  res- 
ervoir— were  formed  with  the  intention  of  rendering  the 
current  less  rapid  by  its  many  windings,  which  broke  its 
force,  and  at  the  same  time  made  the  navigation  more 
circuitous ;  so  that  those  who  descended  towards  Babylon 
by  water  might  have  to  make  a  long  circuit  around  the 
lake.  These  works  were  effective  on  that  side  which  was 
exposed  to  the  inroads  of  the  Medes.  and  where  the  distance 
between  her  dominions  and  theirs  was  the  least ;  for  she 
wished  to  cut  off  all  communication  with  them,  and  to  keep 
them  in  ignorance  of  her  movements. 

Thus  did  this  princess  raise  from  the  dej)ths  a  fortifica- 
tion, within  which  she  was  included.  The  city  being  divided 
into  two  portions  by  the  river  in  former  times,  Avhoever 
wished  to  pass  from  one  to  the  other  was  obliged  to  take  a 
boat,  which  manifestly  was  a  great  inconvenience.  This 
defect  she  supplied.  When  she  had  dug  the  lake  in  the 
marsh,  she  availed  herself  of  the  occasion  to  construct 
another  monument  also,  by  which  her  fame  will  be  perpet- 
uated. She  caused  stones  of  great  magnitude  to  be  hewn, 
and  when  they  were  ready,  the  lake  being  empty,  she 
i.—b  2* 


18  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Herodotus 

turned  the  waters  of  the  Euphrates  into  it;  which,  as  it 
filled,  left  the  old  channel  dry.  Then  she  lined  both  sides 
of  the  river  and  the  descents  from  the  gates  with  burnt 
bricks,  in  like  manner  as  the  city  walls ;  and  with  the  stones 
already  mentioned  she  constructed,  as  near  the  middle  of 
the  city  as  possible,  a  bridge,  binding  the  stones  together 
with  iron  and  lead.  During  the  day,  planks  of  wood  were 
extended  from  pier  to  pier,  so  as  to  form  a  pathway :  these 
were  withdrawn  at  night,  to  prevent  the  people  from  pass- 
ing over  to  plunder  each  other.  This  bridge  was,  as  we 
have  said,  formed  by  withdrawing  the  water  of  the  Eu- 
phrates into  the  artificial  lake  ;  when  comi^leted,  the  river 
was  restored  to  its  ancient  channel ;  the  proj)riety  of  this 
mode  of  proceeding  then  became  apparent,  by  means  of 
which  the  citizens  obtained  the  accommodation  of  a  bridge. 
The  same  queen  also  executed  the  following  machination. 
She  constructed  for  herself  a  tomb,  aloft  upon  a  gate  in 
one  of  the  most  frequented  ways  of  the  city;  upon  the 
sepulchre  she  engraved  this  inscription :  "  If  any  one  of 
my  successors,  the  kings  of  Babylon,  shall  lack  money,  let 
him  open  the  sepulchre,  and  take  what  treasures  he  pleases. 
But  let  him  beware  of  opening  it  from  any  other  cause 
than  necessity ;  for  in  such  a  case  it  shall  not  turn  to  his 
advantage."  This  sepulchre  remained  undisturbed  till 
Darius  ascended  the  throne.  To  this  king  it  seemed  a 
grievance  both  that  this  gate  should  remain  useless,  and 
that  the  wealth  deposited  in  it,  and  which  invited  research, 
should  not  be  appropriated.  The  gate  was  not  used,  because 
no  one  could  pass  through  it  without  having  a  dead  body 
over  his  head.  He  therefore  opened  the  tomb,  in  which  he 
found — of  treasures  indeed  nothing,  but  the  corpse,  and 
an  inscription  to  this  effect :  "  If  thou  hadst  not  been  in- 
satiably eager  for  riches,  and  greedy  of  filthy  lucre,  thou 
wouldst  not  have  opened  the  depository  of  the  dead."     So 


Herodotus]  CAPTURE  OF  BABYLON  BY  CYRUS.  19 

much  for  this  queen,  aud  the  reports  that  have  been  handed 
down  concerning  her. 

It  was  against  the  son  of  this  woman  that  Cyi'us  made 
war :  he  was  named  (Ulie  his  father)  Labynetus,  and  reigned 
over  the  Assyrians.  When  the  Great  King  [the  Persian 
monarch]  goes  out  to  battle,  he  is  attended  by  ample  pro- 
visions and  cattle  drawn  from  the  home  stock ;  and  even 
water  from  the  Choaspian  spring  at  Susa,  of  which  alone 
the  king  drinks,  is  carried  about  for  his  use ;  for  he  can 
taste  no  other  stream.  This  Choaspian  water,  after  having 
been  boiled,  is  put  into  vases  of  silver,  which  are  trans- 
ported in  four-wheeled  wagons  drawn  by  mules,  following 
him  wherever  he  goes. 

Cyrus  advancing  towards  Babylon  arrived  at  the  river 
Gyndes,  which,  rising  in  the  Matienian  hills  and  running 
through  the  country  of  the  Dardanians  (or  Darnians), 
empties  itself  into  the  Tigris ;  and  this  river,  passing  by 
the  city  Opis,  discharges  its  waters  into  the  Eed  Sea. 
When  Cyrus  attempted  to  pass  this  river  Gyndes,  which 
could  only  be  done  by  boats,  one  of  the  white  horses  called 
saci'ed,  full  of  mettle,  plunged  into  the  stream  and  endeav- 
ored to  reach  the  opposite  bank ;  but,  being  submerged  in 
the  current,  it  was  carried  away.  Cyrus,  enraged  at  the 
river  for  this  injury,  threatened  to  reduce  it  so  low  that  in 
future  women  should  ford  it  with  ease,  not  wetting  their 
knees.  Having  uttered  this  threat,  he  delayed  the  prog- 
ress of  his  army  towards  Babylon,  and,  dividing  his  forces 
into  two  bodies,  measured  out  one  hundred  and  eighty 
channels  to  be  cut  from  both  banks  of  the  river,  thus 
diverting  the  Gyndes  on  all  sides.  He  enjoined  upon  his 
army  the  work  of  digging  these  trenches,  and  by  their 
numbers  they  completed  it ;  but  the  whole  summer  was 
spent  there  in  the  labor. 

Cyrus  having  in  this  manner  punished  the  river  Gyndes, 


20  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Herodotus 

by  distributing  its  waters  into  three  hundred  and  sixty 
trenches,  as  soon  as  the  next  spring  appeared,  advanced 
towards  Babylon.  The  Babylonians,  coming  out  in  battle- 
array,  waited  his  approach ;  when  he  drew  nigh  to  the  city 
they  engaged  him,  but,  being  defeated,  retired  within  the 
walls.  Some  time  before,  well  knowing  the  restless  inten- 
tions of  Cyrus,  and  seeing  him  attack  one  nation  after 
another,  they  had  brought  into  the  city  an  abundance  of 
corn  for  many  years.  They  therefore  disregarded  the  siege. 
But  Cyrus,  beset  with  difficulties,  saw  a  long  time  pass 
away  without  his  making  any  progress  towards  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  object. 

At  length,  either  at  the  suggestion  of  some  one  else,  or 
from  a  thought  of  his  own,  he  resorted  to  the  following 
means.  He  disposed  the  whole  of  his  army,  by  placing  one 
part  above  the  city,  where  the  river  enters  it,  and  another 
part  below,  where  it  makes  its  exit,  commanding  them  as 
soon  as  they  should  perceive  the  river  to  be  sufficiently 
shallow  to  enter  by  that  way.  This  order  being  given,  he 
himself  went  off  with  the  inferior  troops  of  the  army. 
Arriving  at  the  lake,  he  did  Avhat  had  been  done  before  by 
the  queen  of  Babylon  in  the  marsh  ;  for,  by  making  a 
trench  from  the  river  to  the  empty  reservoir,  he  diverted 
the  water  from  the  ancient  channel,  till  it  so  far  subsided 
as  to  become  fordable. 

As  soon  as  this  happened,  the  Persians  who  had  been 
appointed  for  this  purpose  entered  Babylon  by  the  bed  of 
the  river,  the  water  of  which  was  little  more  than  knee- 
deep.  If  the  Babylonians  had  been  before  apprised  of  the 
intentions  of  Cyrus,  or  if  they  had  learned  at  the  moment 
what  he  was  doing,  they  would  not  have  suffered  the  Per- 
sians to  enter  the  city, — nor  would  they  have  perished 
so  shamefully;  for  if  they  had  closed  all  the  gates  by  the 
river's  side,  and  ascended  the  walls  which  ran  along  it,  they 


Theocritus]         THE  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS.  21 

might  have  taken  them  as  in  a  net.  But  the  Persians 
came  upon  them  quite  unexjDectedly ;  and  from  the  great 
extent  of  the  city — as  it  has  been  affirmed  by  some  of  the 
inhabitants — those  who  dwelt  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city 
were  made  prisoners  before  the  people  in  the  centre  of 
Babylon  knew  that  the  place  was  taken.  But,  as  it  hap- 
pened, they  were  celebrating  a  festival,  and  were  dancing 
and  feasting  when  they  learned  what  had  happened.  Thus 
was  Babylon  the  first  time  taken. 


THE  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS. 

THEOCRITUS. 

[The  poet  from  whom  we  make  the  present  selection,  one  of  the  most 
original  of  ancient  writers,  and  as  eminent  in  hucolic  poetry  as  Homer 
was  in  epic,  was  a  native  of  Syracuse,  in  Sicily,  where  he  was  born 
ahout  300  B.C.  After  distinguishing  himself  in  his  native  country,  he 
repaired  to  Alexandria,  then  the  favored  seat  of  literature,  where  his 
pastoral  poems  brought  him  abundant  fame.  We  know  little  of  his 
later  history.  His  poems  generally  consist  of  rustic  dialogues,  in  v/hich 
shepherds  contend  for  the  supremacy  in  song,  usually  employing  myth- 
ical stories,  or  the  scenes  of  country  life.  His  poetry  is  throughout 
marked  by  the  force  and  vivacity  of  original  genius.  His  descriptions 
of  nature  and  his  portraitures  of  men  and  women  are  equally  striking 
in  their  individuality,  and  form  the  model  of  Virgil's  poems  of  rural 
life.  He  does  not  confine  himself  to  bucolic  dialogue,  but  deals  also 
with  refined  and  elevated  subjects,  which  he  treats  with  a  rich  and 
delicate  fancy.  The  extract  from  his  "  Idyls"  (as  he  named  his  poems) 
here  given  is  of  marked  dramatic  excellence,  and  shows  a  power  in 
this  direction  which  might  have  given  him  an  exalted  station  as  a 
writer  of  comedy.  It  is  from  the  Fifteenth  Idyl,  the  translation  being 
by  Elton.] 

[Subject. — Two  Syracusan  women,  dwelling  in  Alexandria,  go  to 
see  the  festival  of  Adonis,  given  by  Arsinoe,  the  wife  of  Ptolemy 
Philadelphus.] 


22  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Thkocritus 

Characters. — Gorgo,  Eunoe,  Praxinoe,  Old  Woman,  and 

Strangers. 

Gor.  Ho  !     Is  Praxinoe  within  ? 

Eu.  Dear  Gorgo ! 
How  late  you  are !     She  is  within ! 

Prax.  I  wonder 
That  you  are  come  at  last.     Quick,  Eunoe,  bring 
A  seat,  and  place  a  cushion. 

Eu.  'Tis  all  right. 

Gor.  Breath  of  my  body !     I  have  scarce  escaped 
Alive  to  you,  Praxinoe ;  through  such  crowds 
Of  people,  and  of  chariots !  overywhei'e 
Clattering  of  shoes,  and  whisk  of  soldiers'  cloaks, 
And  such  a  weary  way ;  and  you  are  lodged 
At  such  a  distance ! 

Prax.  Why,  that  wiseacre 
Has  found  me  out  a  den,  and  not  a  house, 
At  the  world's  end,  for  fear  we  should  be  neighbors: 
My  constant  plague ;  and  all  for  spite  and  envy 
He  thwarts  me  thus ! 

Gor.  Mother  of  Yenus !     Softly ! 
The  little  one  is  by ;  speak  not  so  freely 
Of  your  good  husband :  madam,  do  but  look 
How  the  brat  eyes  you ! 

Prax.  That's  a  good,  brave  boy ! 
Pretty  Zopyrion !     I'm  not  speaking,  love, 
Of  your  good  dad. 

Gor.  By  Proserpine,  the  child 
Has  scent  of  it. — ISTo,  dad  is  good. 

Prax.  That  person, 
Some  time  ago  (we'll  speak  of  all  as  happening 
Some  time  ago),  he  was  to  bring  me  rouge 
And  nitre  from  a  shop ;  when  home  he  came 
With  salt,  forsooth !  an  overgrown,  long  booby  I 


Thkocritxjs]         the  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS.  23 

Gor.  And,  troth,  my   own  good   man   has   these  same 
pranks ; 
A  very  sieve  for  money ;  yesterday 
He  buys  me,  at  seven  drachmas,  five  old  fleeces 
From  backs  of  rotten  sheep ;  as  coarse  as  dog's  hair; 
Such  riffraff!  refuse  all,  and  good  for  nothing. 
But    come — come ;    take    your    clasped    robe,   and    your 

scarf. 
And  let's  away  to  Ptolemy's  rich  palace 
And  see  Adonis :  there's  a  stately  show, 
I  hear,  preparing  by  the  queen. 

Prax.  Yes,  yes  ; 
With  grand  ones  all  is  grand.     Now,  as  you've  seen 
And  heard,  do  tell  me  all  you've  heard  and  seen, 
For  I  see  nothino;. 

Gor.  Nay,  nay,  'tis  full  time 
That  we  should  e'en  be  going ;  they  who've  leisure 
Should  make  the  most  of  holy  days. 

Prax.  Some  water : 
Quick,  fetch  it,  Eunoe :  you've  grown  dainty,  jade : 
Here,  place  it,  wench :  "  cats  love  to  sleep  on  cushions :" 
Come,  stir  yourself ;  the  water ;  I  must  wash 
Before  I  go :  see  how  the  dawdle  brings  it ! 
"Well,  pour  away ;  soft,  soft !  you  pour  away. 
Girl,  with  a  vengeance !  see,  you  giddy  slut. 
How  you  have  wetted  all  my  robe !  there — hold ! 
Thank  heaven,  I'm  washed,  however.     Where's  the  key 
Of  the  great  chest  ?  go,  Eunoe,  bring  it  hither. 

Gor.  Praxinoe,  I  own,  that  robe  with  clasps 
Becomes  you  mightily.     What  might  it  cost 
When  in  the  piece  ? 

Prax.  Oh,  Gorgo,  do  not  ask  me  ! 
More  than  two  pounds  of  silver,  and  the  making 
Was  near  the  death  of  me ! 


24  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Tueocritus 

Gor.  'Tis  made,  however ; 
And  to  your  mind,  at  last. 

Prax.  Why,  yes,  indeed  : 
You  have  well  said :  it  does,  I  think,  become  me. 
IsTow,  quick,  my  scarf  and  pai'asol ;  stay,  girl, 
Set  the  folds  tidy.     Child,  I  cannot  take  you ; 
Hobgoblin  is  abroad ;  the  horses  bite : 
Cry  as  you  may,  I  will  not  have  you  crippled. 
Let's  go.     Pray,  Phrygia,  mind  the  little  one, 
And  try  divert  him.     Stop — call  in  the  dog : 
Mind,  shut  the  street  door  after  us.     Good  gods  I 
There  is  a  crowd !  when  we  shall  pass,  or  how, 
I'm  quite  at  my  wits'  ends !  they're  thick  as  ants. 
Well,  Ptolemy,  thou  tread' st  thy  father's  steps. 
His  good  deeds  made  a  god  of  him ;  and  now 
Folks  may  pass  safely  in  a  crowd,  without 
Those  rogues'  tricks,  and  sly  gjrpsy  practices, 
Which  cheats  and  sharj)ers  used  to  practise  on  us : 
All  rogues  alike,  playing  at  fast  and  loose. 
And  hustling  for  one's  money.     Dearest  Gorgo, 
What  will  become  of  us  ?     See  the  king's  troopers ! 
Look,  look,  that  chestnut  horse  rears  bolt  upright ! 
What  a  wild,  furious  beast !     Eun,  Eunoe  !  run 
Out  of  his  way !  he'll  break  his  rider's  neck  : 
I  was  in  luck  to  leave  the  child  at  home. 

Gor.  Take  heart,  Praxinoe ;  we  have  passed  them  now ; 
They've  galloped  towards  the  country. 

Prax.  Thank  my  stars ! 
I  can  take  breath  again.     A  horse  and  snake 
I  never  could  abide,  quite  from  a  girl. 
Come,  make  a  push :  what  a  throng  presses  out 
Upon  us. 

Gor.  From  the  hall,  good  mother  ? 

Old  Woman.  Ay,  good  daughter. 


Theocritus]        THE  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS.  25 

Gor.  Can  we  get  in  easily  ? 

Old  Woman.  The  Greeks,  sweet  wench,  got  Troy   by 
trying  for  't ; 
All's  got  by  trying. 

Gor.  There  the  old  witch  goes, 
With  her  wise  saws  and  soothsayings.     These  women 
Seem  to  know  everything.     They'll  tell  us  how 
Jove  kissed  his  wife.     See,  see,  Praxinoe ! 
What  crowds  about  the  gate  I 

Prax.  My  stars !  immense ! 
Here,  Gorgo,  give  your  hand  in  mine ;  and  you, 
Eunoe,  hold  Eutychus  by  hers ;  mind,  girl. 
And  stick  close  to  her,  or  you'll  sure  be  lost : 
Let's  all  push  in  at  once ;  mind,  Eunoe,  stick 
Close  to  us :  lack-a-day !  there  goes  my  veil ! 
Look,  Gorgo,  torn  in  two !  My  dear  good  man, 
Heaven  bless  you,  do  not  tear  my  scarf  as  well. 

First  Man.  'Tis  not  my  fault,  dear  madam ;  yet  I'll  take 
What  care  I  can. 

Prax.  How  the  crowd  strive  and  press ! 
Just  like  a  drove  of  pigs  ! 

First  Man.  Take  heart,  dear  madam ! 
We're  in,  and  safe  at  last. 

Prax.  And  so,  good  sir. 
May  you  be  safe  and  sound,  the  longest  day 
You  have  to  live.     A  good,  kind  gentleman, 
To  take  such  care  of  us.     Ah !  Eunoe's  squeezed ! 
Force  your  way,  wench !  now,  push !  that's  bravely  done. 
Now  Ave're  all  in.  .  ,  . 

Gor.  Look  at  this  tapestry  first ;  how  finely  woven ! 
How  elegant !  you'd  think  the  gods  had  woven  it ! 

Prax.  Holy  Minerva  !  how  these  weavers  work ! 
See  how  like  painters  they  have  wrought  the  hangings 
With  pictures  large  as  life  I  how  natural 

I.— B  3 


26  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Theocrittjs 

They  stand  out !  and  how  natural  they  move 
Upon  the  wall !  they  look  alive,  not  woven. 
Well,  man,  it  must  be  owned,  is  a  wise  creature. 
Ah !  there  he  is !  Adonis !  wonderful ! 
All  on  a  couch  of  silver !  see,  the  down 
Seems  peeping  on  his  chin !     Oh,  sweet  Adonis ! 
They  say  he's  loved  in  hell. 

Second  Man.  Be  quiet,  hussies ! 
Stop  that  eternal  clack !     You  prate,  and  prate. 
Like  two  caged  turtles,  with  that  broad,  splay  brogue. 

Gor.  My  goodness !  who's  this  fellow  ?     Prate  or  not. 
What  is  it,  sir,  to  you  ?    You  quite  mistake 
Your  persons,  I  believe.     None  of  your  airs 
To  us.     Belike  you  think  you  may  talk  big 
To  Sjn'acusans,  but  we'd  have  you  know 
We  are  from  Corinth,  sir,  of  the  same  blood 
As  was  Bellerophon ;  our  dialect 
Peloponnesian ;  let  the  Dorians  speak 
The  Doric  brogue ;  'tis  none  of  ours,  believe  me. 

Prax.  Sweet  Proserpine !  I'd  send  the  fellow  jjacking 
That  dared  crow  over  me :  unless,  indeed. 
My  husband :  you  may  threaten,  sir,  but  I 
Will  not  be  cuffed,  depend  on  't. 

Gor.  Hush,  Praxinoe ; 
The  Grecian  woman's  daughter's  going  to  sing 
About  Adonis, — she  that  sings  so  finely  : 
In  plaintive  airs,  they  say,  she  rivals  Sperchis ; 
Her  song  will  be  most  charming,  that  I  know : 
Now,  watch  her  die-away  soft  look ;  she'll  sing. 

Greek  Girl  sings. 

O  Venus !  swimming  all  in  gold !     O  queen 
That  lovest  the  Golgian  groves,  Idalia's  green. 
And  steep,  o'erhanging  Eryx'  mountain-scene, 


Theocritus]         THE  SYRACUSAN  GOSSIPS.  27 

In  the  twelfth  morn  the  hours,  soft-footed,  glide, 

And  bring  from  Acheron's  perennial  tide 

Thy  own  Adonis :  slow  the  hours  may  roam. 

Yet  come  with  blessings,  when  at  last  they  come. 

O  daughter  of  Dione !  thou  hast  given 

To  Berenice  charms  that  bloom  of  heaven ; 

Poured  dews  ambrosial  in  her  mortal  breast, 

And  bade  her  live,  among  immortals  blest. 

Arsinoe  now,  her  grateful  daughter,  fair 

As  Helen's  self,  repays  thee  for  thy  care. 

O  graced  with  many  names !  with  many  shrines  ! 

Decked  by  her  hands  thy  own  Adonis  shines. 

For  him  each  tree  the  season's  fruitage  sheds ; 

From  silver  baskets  breathe  the  garden  beds; 

Vases  of  gold  drop  Syrian  unguents  round. 

And  cakes  of  snowy  meal  with  flowers  are  crowned. 

Smooth-kneaded  in  the  board,  with  female  toil, 

Of  luscious  honey  and  of  liquid  oil. 

Here  birds  and  reptiles  haunt ;  while  anise  weaves 

Its  green  festoons,  and  bowers  them  in  its  leaves. 

Small  cupids,  perched  like  nightingales  on  high, 

"Vault  'midst  the  boughs,  and,  poised,  their  pinions  try. 

O  ebony  !  0  gold  !  and  ivory  white  ! 

O  eagles,  bearing  in  your  upward  flight 

The  youthful  cup-bearer  of  Jove  !  behold. 

Softer  than  sleep,  the  purple  carpets  rolled ; 

The  weaver  of  Miletus  this  might  say, 

This  tribute  might  the  Samian  shepherd  pay. 

For  the  soft  pair  behold  the  couches  spread  ; 

Here  Yenus,  there  Adonis,  gilds  the  bed  ; 

Adonis,  with  his  rose-tipped  arms,  now  seen 

In  bridegroom  bloominess  of  fair  eighteen ; 

His  ruddy  lips  just  ripening  into  bliss, 

Impressing  smooth  the  soft  and  beardless  kiss. 


28  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cicero 

Thus  now  let  Ycims  with  her  bridegroom  woo ; 
But  throngs  of  maidens,  with  the  morning  dew, 
Shall  to  the  frothy  wave  his  image  bear, 
With  trailing  vestures  and  dishevelled  hair; 
And  thus  begin  the  song,  with  bosoms  bare : 

"  Thou  passest,  dear  Adonis,  to  and  fro 
To  th'  uj)per  stream,  from  Acheron  below : 
No  other  demi-god  has  thus  returned  : 
Atrides ;  Ajax,  that  with  madness  burned ; 
Hector,  of  Priam's  sons  the  proudest  joy ; 
Patroclus ;  Pyrrhus,  who  subverted  Troy ; 
Deucalion's  race ;  or  Lapithaj  of  old ; 
Or  Pelops'  flower  j  or  those  of  stern  Pelasgiau  mould. 
Still  smile,  Adonis !  bless  each  future  year ! 
Thou  kind  appearest  now ;  thus  ever  kind  appear." 

Gor.  You'll  own,  Praxinoo,  that  a  woman,  too, 
Is  a  wise  creature.     What  a  blessed  lady ! 
What  knowledge  is  within  that  little  head ! 
And  so  sweet-voiced,  too !     But  'tis  time  for  home. 
My  good  man  has  not  dined  :  you  know  his  temper ; 
So  cross  and  choleric !     I'd  not  have  you  meet  him 
Ere  he  has  stayed  his  stomach.     Dear  Adonis, 
Now  fare  thee  well !  joy  go  with  thy  procession. 


ON  OLD  AGE. 

CICERO. 


[On  the  banks  of  the  gently-flowing  Liris,  near  Arpinum,  in  Italy, 
was  bom,  103  B.C.,  Marcus  Tullius  Cicero,  the  celebrated  orator  and 
philosopher,  and  in  many  respects  the  finest  intellect  produced  by 
Rome.  Cicero  studied  philosophy  under  teachers  of  three  diftorent 
schools,  the  Stoic,  the  Epicurean,  and  the  Academic,  and  while  still 


Cicero]  ON  OLD  AGE.  29 

young  acquired  reputation  as  an  orator  in  the  defence  of  a  citizen 
named  Roscius  against  a  favorite  of  the  tyrant  Sulla.  His  after-lifo 
was  a  very  diversified  one,  its  most  important  incidents  being  his  ora- 
torical triumph  over  the  conspirator  Catiline,  and  his  assault  on  Antony, 
after  the  death  of  Csesar,  in  a  series  of  vigorous  and  eloquent  speeches 
known  as  the  Philippic  orations.  This  attack  proved  fatal  to  the  orator. 
He  was  proscribed  by  the  second  triumvirate,  and  assassinated  by  order 
of  Antony,  43  B.C.,  his  head  and  hands  being  cut  off  and  exposed  on 
the  rostrum  which  he  had  so  often  graced  with  his  eloquence. 

The  literary  labors  of  Cicero  were  incessant,  and  his  productions 
cover  a  wide  field.  Of  these  his  orations  are  remarkable  specimens 
of  oratorical  skill  and  beauty.  They  are  florid  in  style,  yet  are  unsur- 
passed in  melody  of  language  and  brilliancy  of  expression.  His  letters 
are  equally  valuable  as  models  of  the  epistolary  art,  being  written  in  a 
simple  and  unaffected  manner,  and  revealing  the  internal  nature  and 
social  life  of  their  author  with  the  most  engaging  frankness.  His  rhe- 
torical works  are  of  equal  beauty  and  value,  but  his  philosophical 
treatises  are  of  minor  importance,  being  rather  a  collection  of  precepts 
than  a  system  of  philosophy.  From  his  treatise  "  De  Senectute"  we 
extract  the  essential  portions  of  his  admirable  remarks  on  old  age, 
Cato  the  Elder  being  supposed  to  be  the  speaker.  The  translation  is  by 
Melmoth,  and  is  an  excellent  reproduction  of  the  original.] 

When  I  consider  the  several  causes  which  are  usually 
supposed  to  constitute  the  infelicity  of  old  age,  they  may 
be  reduced,  I  think,  under  four  general  articles.  It  is 
alleged  that  it  incapacitates  a  man  for  acting  in  the  affairs 
of  the  world;  that  it  produces  great  infirmities  of  body; 
that  it  disqualifies  him  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  sensual 
gratifications ;  and  that  it  brings  him  within  the  imme- 
diate verge  of  death.  Let  us,  therefore,  if  you  please,  ex- 
amine the  force  and  validity  of  each  of  these  particular 
charges. 

Old  age,  it  seems,  disqualifies  us  from  taking  an  active 

part  in  the  great  scenes  of  business.     But  in  what  scenes  ? 

let  me  ask.     If  in  those  which  require  the  strength  and 

vivacity  of  youth,  I  readily  admit  the  charge ;  but  are  there 

I.  3* 


30  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Ciceko 

no  other? — none  that  are  peculiarly  aj^propriated  to  the 
evening  of  life,  and  which,  being  executed  by  the  powers 
of  the  mind,  are  perfectly  consistent  with  a  less  vigorous 
state  of  body  ?  Did  Quintus  Maximus,  then,  pass  the  latter 
end  of  his  long  life  in  total  inactivity?  Tell  me,  Scipio, 
was  your  father,  and  my  son's  father-in-law,  the  excellent 
Paulus  Lucius,  were  the  Fabricii,  the  Curii,  the  Coruneanii, 
utterly  bereaved  of  all  useful  energy,  when  they  supported 
the  interests  of  the  republic  by  the  wisdom  of  their  coun- 
sels and  the  influence  of  their  respectable  authority  ?  .  .  . 
Nothing  can  be  more  void  of  foundation  than  to  assert  that 
old  age  necessarily  disqualifies  a  inan  for  the  great  aff'airs 
of  the  world.  As  well  might  it  be  affirmed  that  the  pilot 
is  totally  useless  and  unengaged  in  the  business  of  the  ship 
because,  while  the  rest  of  the  crew  are  more  actively  em- 
ployed in  their  rcsjjective  departments,  he  sits  quietly  at 
the  helm  and  directs  its  motions.  If  in  the  great  scenes  of 
business  an  old  man  cannot  perform  a  part  which  requires 
the  force  and  energy  of  vigorous  years,  he  can  act,  however, 
in  a  nobler  and  more  important  character.  It  is  not  by 
exertions  of  corporeal  strength  and  activity  that  the  mo- 
mentous affairs  of  state  are  conducted ;  it  is  by  cool  delib- 
eration, by  prudent  counsel,  and  by  that  authoritative 
influence  which  ever  attends  on  public  esteem, — qualifica- 
tions which  are  so  far  from  being  impaired,  that  they  are 
usually  strengthened  and  imj)roved  by  increase  of  years.  .  .  . 
If  you  look  into  the  history  of  foreign  nations,  you  will 
find  frequent  instances  of  flourishing  communities  which, 
after  having  been  wellnigh  ruined  by  the  impetuous  meas- 
ures of  young  and  inexperienced  statesmen,  have  been  re- 
stored to  their  former  glory  by  the  prudent  administration 
of  more  discreet  years.  "Tell  me,"  says  one  of  the  person- 
ages in  that  dramatic  piece  of  Nsevius  called  "  The  School," 
addressing  himself  to  a  citizen  of  a  certain  republic,  "  tell 


Cicero]  ON  OLD  AGE.  31 

mo  whence  it  happened  that  so  considerable  a  state  as  yours 
has  thus  suddenly  fallen  into  decay?"  The  person  ques- 
tioned assigned  several  reasons ;  but  the  principal  was  that 
a  swarm  of  rash,  unpractised  young  orators  had  unhappily 
broken  forth,  and  taken  the  lead  amongst  them.  Temerity, 
indeed,  is  the  usual  characteristic  of  youth,  as  prudence  is 
of  old  age. 

But  it  is  further  urged  that  old  age  impairs  the  memory. 
This  effect,  I  confess,  it  may  probably  have  on  those  mem- 
ories which  were  originally  infirm,  or  whose  native  vigor 
has  not  been  preserved  by  a  proper  exercise  ;  but  is  there 
any  reason  to  suppose  that  Themistocles,  who  had  so  strong 
a  memory  that  he  knew  the  name  of  every  citizen  in  the 
commonwealth,  lost  this  retentive  power  as  his  years  in- 
creased, and  addressed  Aristides,  for  instance,  by  the  appel- 
lation of  Lysimachus  ?  .  .  .  The  aged,  indeed,  seem  to  be 
at  no  loss  in  remembering  whatever  is  the  principal  object 
of  their  attention ;  and  few  there  are  at  that  period  of  life 
who  cannot  readily  call  to  mind  what  recognizances  they 
have  entered  into,  or  with  whom  they  have  had  any  pecu- 
niary transactions.  Innumerable  instances  of  a  strong 
memory  in  advanced  years  might  be  produced  from  among 
our  celebrated  lawyers,  pontiffs,  augurs,  and  philosophers ; 
for  the  faculties  of  the  mind  will  preserve  their  powers  in 
old  age,  unless  they  are  suffered  to  lose  their  energy  and 
become  languid  for  want  of  due  cultivation.  .  .  . 

The  next  imj)utation  thrown  on  old  age  is  that  it  imj)air8 
the  strength ;  and  it  must  be  acknowledged  the  charge  is 
not  altogether  without  foundation.  But,  for  my  own  part, 
I  no  more  regret  the  want  of  that  vigor  which  I  possessed 
in  my  youth,  than  I  lamented  in  my  youth  that  I  was  not 
endowed  with  the  force  of  a  bull  or  an  elephant.  It  is 
sufficient  if  we  exert  with  spirit,  on  every  proper  occasion, 
that  decree  of  strength  which  still  remains  with  us.     Noth- 


32  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cicero 

ing  can  be  more  truly  contemptible  than  a  circumstance 
■which  is  related  concerning  the  famous  Milo  of  Croton. 
This  man,  when  he  had  become  old,  observing  a  set  of 
athletic  combatants  that  were  exercising  themselves  in  the 
public  circus,  "Alas!"  said  he,  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears 
and  stretching  forth  his  arm,  "alas!  these  muscles  are  now 
totally  relaxed  and  impotent."  Fi-ivolous  old  man!  it  was 
not  so  much  the  debility  of  thy  body  as  the  weakness  of 
thy  mind  thou  hadst  reason  to  lament ;  as  it  was  by  the 
force  of  mere  animal  prowess,  and  not  by  those  superior 
excellences  which  truly  ennoble  man,  that  thou  hadst  ren- 
dered thy  name  famous.  .  .  . 

As  to  those  effects  which  are  the  necessary  and  natural 
evils  attendant  on  long  life,  it  imports  us  to  counteract 
their  progress  by  a  constant  and  resolute  opposition,  and 
to  combat  the  infirmities  of  old  age  as  we  would  resist  the 
approach  of  a  disease.  To  this  end  we  should  be  regularly 
attentive  to  the  article  of  health,  use  moderate  exercise, 
and  neither  eat  nor  drink  more  than  is  necessary  for  re- 
pairing our  strength,  without  oppressing  the  organs  of 
digestion.  Nor  is  this  all :  the  intellectual  faculties  must 
likewise  be  assisted  by  proper  care,  as  well  as  those  of  the 
body ;  for  the  powers  of  the  mind,  like  the  flame  in  a  lamp, 
will  become  languid  and  extinct  by  time  if  not  duly  and 
regularly  recruited.  Indeed,  the  mind  and  body  equally 
thrive  by  a  suitable  exertion  of  their  powers;  w^ith  this 
difference,  however,  that  bodily  exercise  ends  in  fatigue, 
whereas  the  mind  is  never  wearied  by  its  activity.  .  .  . 
He  who  fills  up  every  hour  of  his  life  in  such  kind  of 
labors  and  pursuits  as  those  1  have  mentioned  will  insensibly 
glide  into  old  age  without  perceiving  its  arrival ;  and  his 
powers,  instead  of  being  suddenl}^  and  prematurely  extin- 
guished, will  gradually  decline  by  the  gentle  and  natural 
effect  of  accumulated  years. 


Cicero]  ON   OLD  AGE.  'JS 

Let  us  now  examine  the  third  article  of  complaint  against 
old  age,  as  bereaving  us,  it  seems,  of  the  sensual  gratifica- 
tions. Happy  effect,  indeed,  if  it  deliver  us  from  those 
snares  which  allui'e  youth  into  some  of  the  worst  vices  to 
which  that  age  is  addicted !  Inestimable,  surely,  are  the 
advantages  of  old  age,  if  we  consider  it  as  'Jlelivering  us 
from  the  tyranny  of  lust  and  ambition ;  from  the  angry 
and  contentious  passions ;  from  every  inordinate  and  ir- 
rational desire;  in  a  word,  as  teaching  us  to  retire  w'ithin 
ourselves,  and  look  for  happiness  in  our  own  bosoms.  If 
to  these  moral  benefits,  naturally  resulting  from  length 
of  days,  be  added  that  sweet  food  of  the  mind  which  is 
gathered  in  the  fields  of  science,  I  know  not  any  season  of 
life  that  is  passed  more  agreeably  than  the  learned  leisure 
of  a  virtuous  old  age.  .  .  . 

It  remains  only  to  consider  the  fourth  and  last  imputa- 
tion on  the  period  of  life  at  which  I  am  arrived.  Old  age, 
it  seems,  must  necessarily  be  a  state  of  much  anxiety  and 
disquietude,  from  the  near  approach  of  death.  That  the 
hour  of  dissolution  cannot  possibly  be  far  distant  from  an 
old  man  is  most  undoubtedly  certain ;  but  unhappy  indeed 
must  he  be  if  in  so  long  a  course  of  years  he  has  yet  to 
learn  that  there  is  nothing  in  that  circumstance  which  can 
reasonably  alarm  his  fears ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  an  event 
either  utterly  to  be  disregarded,  if  it  extinguish  the  soul's 
existence,  or  much  to  be  wished,  if  it  convey  her  to  some 
region  where  she  shall  continue  to  exist  forever.  One  of 
these  two  consequences  must  necessarily  follow  the  dis- 
union of  the  soul  and  body;  there  is  no  other  possible  alter- 
native. AVhat,  then,  have  I  to  fear,  if  after  death  I  shall 
either  not  be  miserable,  or  shall  certainly  be  happy?  But, 
after  all,  is  there  any  man,  how  young  soever  he  may  be, 
who  can  be  so  weak  as  to  promise  himself,  with  confidence, 
that  he  shall  live  even  till  night  ?     In  fact,  young  peoj)le 

I. — c 


34  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cicero 

are  more  exposed  to  mortal  accidents  than  even  the  aged ; 
they  are  also  not  only  more  liable  to  natural  diseases,  but, 
as  they  are  generally  attacked  by  them  in  a  more  violent 
manner,  are  obliged  to  obtain  their  cure,  if  they  happen  to 
recover,  by  a  more  painful  course  of  medical  operations. 
Hence  it  is  that  there  are  but  few  among  mankind  who 
arrive  at  old  age.  .  .  . 

Every  event  agreeable  to  the  coui'se  of  nature  ought  to 
be  looked  on  as  a  real  good ;  and  surely  none  can  be  more 
natural  than  for  an  old  man  to  die.  It  is  true,  youth  like- 
wise stands  exposed  to  the  same  dissolution ;  but  it  is  a 
dissolution  contrary  to  Nature's  evident  intentions,  and  in 
direct  opposition  to  her  strongest  efforts.  In  the  latter 
instance  the  privation  of  life  may  be  resembled  to  a  fire 
forcibly  extinguished  by  a  deluge  of  water ;  in  the  former, 
to  a  fire  spontaneously  and  gradually  going  out  from  a 
total  consumption  of  its  fuel.  Or,  to  have  recourse  to 
another  illustration  :  as  fruit,  before  it  is  ripe,  cannot  with- 
out some  degree  of  force  be  se|)arated  from  the  stalk,  but 
drops  of  itself  when  perfectly  mature,  so  the  disunion  of 
the  soul  and  body  is  effected  in  the  young  by  dint  of  vio- 
lence, but  is  wrought  in  the  old  by  a  mere  fiilness  and 
completion  of  years.  .  This  ripeness  of  death  I  perceive  in 
myself  with  much  satisfaction ;  and  I  look  forward  to  my 
dissolution  as  to  a  secure  haven,  where  I  shall  at  length 
find  a  happy  repose  from  the  fatigues  of  a  long  voyage.  .  .  . 

The  distaste  with  which,  in  passing  through  the  several 
stages  of  our  present  being,  we  leave  behind  us  the  respec 
five  enjoyments  peculiar  to  each,  must  necessarily,  I  should 
think,  in  the  close  of  its  latest  period,  render  life  itself  no 
longer  desirable.  Infancy  and  youth,  manhood  and  old 
age,  have  each  of  them  their  peculiar  and  appropriate 
pursuits ;  but  does  youth  regz-et  the  toys  of  infjincy,  or 
manhood   lament  that  it  has  no  longer  a  taste    for   the 


Cicero]  ON  OLD  AGE.  35 

amusements  of  youth  ?  The  seasou  of  manhood  has  also 
its  suitable  objects,  that  are  exchanged  for  others  in  old 
age ;  and  these  too,  like  all  the  preceding,  become  languid 
and  insipid  in  their  turn.  JSTow,  when  this  state  of  abso- 
lute satiety  is  at  length  arrived ;  when  we  have  enjoyed 
the  satisfactions  peculiar  to  old  age,  till  we  have  no  longer 
any  relish  remaining  for  them ;  it  is  then  that  death  may 
justly  be  considered  as  a  mature  and  suitable  event. 

The  nearer  death  advances  towards  me,  the  more  clearly 
I  seem  to  discern  its  real  nature.  The  soul,  during  her 
confinement  within  this  prison  of  the  body,  is  doomed  by 
fate  to  undergo  a  severe  penance :  for  her  native  seat  is  in 
heaven ;  and  it  is  with  reluctance  that  she  is  forced  down 
from  those  celestial  mansions  into  these  lower  regions, 
where  all  is  foreign  and  repugnant  to  her  divine  nature. 
But  the  gods,  I  am  persuaded,  have  thus  widely  dissemi- 
nated immortal  spirits,  and  clothed  them  with  human 
bodies,  that  there  might  be  a  race  of  intelligent  creatures, 
not  only  to  have  dominion  over  this  oui"  earth,  but  to  con- 
template the  host  of  heaven,  and  imitate  in  their  moral 
conduct  the  beautiful  order  and  uniformity  so  conspicuous 
in  those  splendid  orbs.  This  opinion  I  am  induced  to  em- 
brace, not  only  as  agreeable  to  the  best  deductions  of  reason, 
but  in  just  deference  also  to  the  authority  of  the  noblest 
and  most  distinguished  philosophers.  .  .  .  When  I  consider 
the  faculties  with  which  the  human  mind  is  endued,  its 
amazing  celerity,  its  wonderful  power  in  recollecting  past 
events  and  sagacity  in  discerning  future,  together  with 
its  numberless  discoveries  in  the  several  arts  and  sciences, 
I  feel  a  conscious  conviction  that  this  active,  comprehensive 
principle  cannot  possibly  be  of  a  mortal  nature.  And  as 
this  unceasing  activity  of  the  soul  derives  its  energy  from 
its  own  intrinsic  and  essential  powers,  without  receiving  it 
from  any  foreign  or  external  impulse,  it  necessarily  follows 


36  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cicero 

(as  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  the  soul  would  desert  itself)  that 
its  activity  must  continue  forever.  .  .  . 

Tell  me,  my  friends,  whence  it  is  that  these  men  who 
have  made  the  greatest  advances  in  true  wisdom  and  gen- 
uine philosophy  are  observed  to  meet  death  with  the  most 
perfect  equanimity,  while  the  ignorant  and  unimproved 
part  of  our  sj^ecies  generally  see  its  approach  with  the 
utmost  discomposure  and  reluctance  ?  Is  it  not  because 
the  more  enlightened  the  mind  is,  and  the  farther  it  extends 
its  view,  the  more  clearly  it  discerns  in  the  hour  of  its  dis- 
solution (what  narrow  and  vulgar  souls  are  too  short-sighted 
to  discover)  that  it  is  taking  its  flight  into  some  happier 
region  ?  For  my  own  part,  I  feel  myself  transported  with 
the  most  ardent  impatience  to  join  the  society  of  my  two 
departed  friends,  your  illustrious  fathers,  whose  characters 
I  greatly  resjDected,  and  whose  persons  I  sincerely  loved. 
Nor  is  this  my  earnest  wish  confined  to  those  excellent 
persons  alone  with  whom  I  was  formerly  connected :  I 
ardently  wish  to  visit  also  those  celebrated  worthies  of 
whoso  honorable  conduct  I  have  heard  and  read  much,  or 
whose  virtues  I  have  myself  commemorated  in  some  of 
my  writings.  To  this  glorious  assembly  I  am  speedily  ad- 
vancing ;  and  I  would  not  be  turned  back  in  my  journey, 
even  on  the  assured  condition  that  my  youth,  like  that  of 
Pelias,  should  again  be  restored.  The  sincere  truth  is,  if 
some  divinity  would  confer  on  me  a  new  grant  of  life,  and  re- 
place me  once  more  in  the  cradle,  I  would  utterly,  and  with- 
out the  least  hesitation,  reject  the  offer :  having  wellnigh  fin- 
ished my  race,  1  have  no  inclination  to  return  to  the  goal. 
For  what  has  life  to  recommend  it?  or  rather,  indeed,  to 
what  evils  does  it  not  expose  us?  But  admit  that  its  satis- 
factions are  many ;  yet  sui"cly  there  is  a  time  when  we 
have  had  a  sufficient  measure  of  its  enjoyments,  and  may 
well  depart  contented  with  our  share  of  the  feast.     For  I 


Sophocles]    THE   CONDEMNATION  OF  ANTIGONE.  37 

mean  not,  in  imitation  of  some  very  considerable  philoso- 
phers, to  represent  the  condition  of  human  nature  as  a 
subject  of  just  lamentation:  on  the  contrary,  I  am  far  from 
regretting  that  life  was  bestowed  on  me,  as  I  have  the  sat- 
isfaction to  think  that  I  have  employed  it  in  such  a  manner 
as  not  to  have  lived  in  vain.  In  short,  I  consider  this  world 
as  a  place  which  Nature  never  designed  for  my  permanent 
abode ;  and  I  look  upon  my  departure  out  of  it,  not  as 
being  driven  from  my  habitation,  but  as  leaving  my  inn. 


THE  CONDEMNATION  OF  ANTIGONE. 

SOPHOCLES. 

[Of  tlie  three  gre.it  Greek  tragic  poets  whose  works  we  possess,  Soph- 
ocles, the  second  in  date,  was  born  in  495  B.C.,  at  Colonus,  a  small 
village  near  Athens.  He  was  so  notable  while  young  for  grace  and 
beauty  that  at  the  age  of  sixteen  he  was  chosen  to  lead  the  choral 
dance  of  youths  round  the  altar  which  had  been  raised  in  honor  of  the 
victory  of  Salamis.  Ten  years  later  he  appeared  as  a  tragic  poet,  in 
competition  with  ^schylus  for  the  tragic  crown.  For  more  than  sixty 
years  he  continued  to  exhibit  plays,  always  winning  either  the  first  or 
the  second  prize. 

The  tragedies  of  Sophocles,  of  which  seven  remain  to  us,  are  con- 
sidered by  all  critics  to  be  the  perfection  of  the  Greek  drama.  His  plots 
are  skilfully  woven,  his  stories  artistically  developed,  and  his  charac- 
ters, though  idealized,  carefully  delineated,  while  his  poetic  power,  his 
sweetness,  purity,  and  pathos,  won  for  him  the  title  of  "the  Attic 
Bee."  From  the  most  admired  of  his  extant  plays,  the  "  Antigone," 
we  select  Bulwer's  translation  of  the  condemnation-scene.  The  heroine 
in  this  play  is  the  noblest  ideal  of  womankind  that  poet  has  ever  drawn, 
and  her  martyrdom  is  one  of  the  most  affecting  of  all  tragic  scenes. 

Of  the  two  brothers  of  Antigone,  one  had  died  while  aiding  Creon 
of  Thebes  in  defence  of  that  city ;  the  other,  Polynices,  had  taken  part 
in  the  assault  on  his  native  city,  and  was  left  dead  before  the  walls. 
I.  4 


43 


38  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sophocles 

Creon  threatens  death  to  any  who  shall  bury  the  corpse.  Antigone, 
aided  by  her  sister  Ismene,  defies  the  mandate,  is  taken  while  burying 
the  corpse,  and  is  brought  before  Creon,  whose  son,  Hsemon,  is  her 
betrothed  lover.] 

Creok,  Axtigo:n'e,  Chorits. 

Creon.  Answer,  then — 
Bending  thy  head  to  earth,  dost  thou  confess, 
Or  canst  deny  the  charge  ? 

Antigone.  I  do  confess  it 
Freely ;  I  scorn  to  disavow  the  act. 

Or.  Eeply  with  answer  brief  to  one  plain  question, 
Without  evasion.     Didst  thou  know  the  law 
That  none  should  do  this  deed  ? 

Ant.  I  knew  it  well : 
How  could  I  fail  to  know  ?     It  was  most  plain. 

Cr.  Didst  thou  then  dare  transgress  our  royal  mandate  ? 

Ant.  ]!!^e'er  did  eternal  Jove  such  laws  ordain, 
Or  Justice,  throned  amid  th'  infernal  powers, 
Who  on  mankind  these  holier  rites  imposed ; 
Nor  can  I  deem  thine  edict  armed  with  power 
To  contravene  the  firm,  unwritten  laws 
Of  the  just  gods,  thyself  a  weak,  frail  mortal! 
These  are  no  laws  of  yesterday, — they  live 
For  evermore,  and  none  can  trace  their  birth. 
I  would  not  dare,  by  mortal  threat  appalled. 
To  violate  their  sanction,  and  incur 
The  vengeance  of  the  gods.     I  knew  before 
That  I  must  die,  though  thou  hadst  ne'er  proclaimed  it. 
And  if  I  perish  ere  th'  allotted  term 
I  deem  that  death  a  blessing.     AVho  that  lives, 
Like  me,  encompassed  by  unnumbered  ills, 
But  would  account  it  blessedness  to  die  ? 
If  then  I  meet  the  doom  thy  laws  assign. 


SorHOCLKs]    THE  CONDEMNATION  OF  ANTIGONE.  39 

It  nothing  grieves  me.     Had  I  left  my  brother, 
From  my  own  mother  sprung,  on  the  bare  earth 
To  lie  unburied,  that  indeed  might  grieve  me ; 
But  for  this  deed  I  mourn  not.     If  to  thee 
Mine  actions  seem  unwise,  'tis  thine  own  soul 
That  errs  from  wisdom,  when  it  deems  me  senseless. 

Ch.  This  maiden  shows  her  father's  stubborn  soul, 
And  scorns  to  bend  beneath  misfortune's  power. 

Cr.  Yet  thou  mightst  know  that  loftiest  spirits  oft 
Are  bound  to  deepest  shame  ;  and  thou  mightst  mark 
The  hardest  metal  soft  and  ductile  made 
By  the  resistless  energy  of  flame  ; 
Oft,  too,  the  fiery  courser  have  I  seen 
By  a  small  bit  constrained.     High  arrogant  thoughts 
Beseem  not  one  whose  duty  is  submission. 
In  this  presumption  she  was  lessoned  first 
When  our  imperial  laws  she  dared  to  spurn, 
And  to  that  insolent  wrong  fresh  insult  adds, 
In  that  she  glories,  vaunting  of  the  deed. 
Henceforth  no  more  deem  mine  a  manly  soul — • 
Concede  that  name  to  hers — if  from  this  crime 
She  shall  escape  unpunished.     Though  she  spring 
From  our  own  sister,  she  shall  not  evade 
A  shameful  death. 

Ant.  And  welcome !     Whence  could  I 
Obtain  a  holier  praise  than  by  committing 
My  brother  to  the  tomb  ?     These,  too,  I  know 
Would  all  approve  the  action,  but  that  fear 
Curbs  their  free  thoughts  to  base  and  servile  silence ; 
But  'tis  the  noble  privilege  of  tja-ants 
To  say  and  do  whate'er  their  lordly  will, 
Their  only  law,  may  prompt. 

Cr.  Of  all  the  Thebans 
Dost  thou  alone  see  this. 


40  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sophocles 

Ant.  They,  too,  behold  it, 
But  fear  constrains  them  to  an  abject  silence. 

Cr.  Does  it  not  shame  thee  to  dissent  from  these  ? 

A?it.  I  cannot  think  it  shame  to  love  my  brother. 

Cr.  Was  not  he  too,  who  died  for  Thebes,  thy  brother  ? 

Ant.  He  was ;  and  of  the  self-same  parents  born. 

Cr.  Why  then  dishonor  him  to  grace  the  guilty  ? 

Ant.  The  dead  entombed  will  not  attest  thy  words. 

Cr.  Yes ;  if  thou  honor  with  an  equal  doom 
That  impious  wretch. 

Ant.  He  did  not  fall  a  slave. 
He  was  my  brother. 

Cr.  Yet  he  wronged  his  country ; 
The  other  fought  undaunted  in  her  cause. 

Ant.  Still  death  at  least  demands  an  equal  law. 

Cr.  Ne'er  should  the  base  bo  honored  like  the  noble. 

Ant.  Who  knows,  if  this  be  holy  in  the  shades  ? 

Cr.  Death  cannot  change  a  foe  into  a  friend. 

Ant.  My  nature  tends  to  mutual  love,  not  hatred. 

Cr.  Then  to  the  grave,  and  love  them,  if  thou  must. 
But  while  I  live  no  woman  shall  bear  sway. 

[After  a  song  by  the  Chorus,  Hsemon,  the  son  of  Creon,  entei-s,  and 
pleads  with  his  father  for  the  pardon  of  his  betrothed.  His  arguments 
proving  useless,  he  breaks  out  into  anger,  and  a  scene  of  violent  recrim- 
ination ensues.] 

Cr.  And  must  we  stoop,  in  this  our  cooler  age, 
Thus  to  be  lessoned  by  a  beardless  boy  ? 

Hce.  Not  stoop  to  learn  injustice.     I  am  young. 
But  thou  shouldst  weigh  my  actions,  not  my  years. 

Cr.  Thou  deem'st  it  justice,  then,  to  favor  rebels  ? 

Jlce.  Ne'er  would  I  ask  thy  favor  for  the  guilty. 

Cr.  Is  not  this  maiden  stained  with  manifest  guilt  ? 

Hce.  The  general  voice  of  Thebes  repels  the  charge. 


Sophocles]    THE  CONDEMNATION  OF  ANTIGONE.  41 

Cr.  Shall  then  the  city  dictate  laws  to  me  ? 

Mce.  Do  not  thy  words  betray  a  very  youth  ? 

Cr.  Should  I,  or  should  another,  sway  the  state  ? 

Hce.  That  is  no  state  which  crouches  to  one  despot ! 

C?\  Is  not  a  monarch  master  of  his  state  ? 

See.  How  nobly  wouldst  thou  lord  it  o'er  a  desert ! 

Cr.  Behold,  I  pray  you,  how  this  doughty  warrior 
Strives  in  a  woman's  cause. 

Hce.  Art  thou  a  woman  ? 
I  strive  for  none,  save  thee. 

Cr.  0  thou  most  vile ! 
"Wouldst  thou  withstand  thy  father? 

If(e.  When  I  see 
My  father  swerve  from  justice. 

Cr.  Do  I  err, 
Eevering  my  own  laws  ? 

See.  Dost  thou  revere  them 
When  thou  wouldst  trample  on  the  laws  of  heaven? 

Cr.  O  thou  degenerate  wretch !  thou  woman's  slave ! 

Hcs.  ISTe'er   shalt  thou  find  me  the  vile  slave  of  base- 
ness. 

Cr.  Thou  ne'er  shalt  wed  her  living. 

See.  If  she  die, 
Her  death  shall  crush  another. 

Cr.  Daring  villain. 
Dost  thou  proceed  to  threats  ? 

See.  And  does  he  threat 
Who  but  refutes  vain  counsels  ? 

Cr.  At  thy  cost 
Shalt  thou  reprove  me,  void  thyself  of  sense. 

See.  iN'ow,  but  thou  art  my  father,  I  would  say 
That  thou  art  most  unwise. 

Cr.  Hence,  woman's  slave ! 
And  prate  no  more  to  me. 

I.  4* 


42  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sophocles 

JTa^.  Wouldst  thou  then  speak 
"VVhate'er  thou  list,  and  not  endure  reply? 

Cr.  Ay,  is  it  true  ?     Then,  by  Olymjrjian  Jove, 
I  swear  thou  shalt  not  beard  me  thus  unpunished ! 
Ho !  bring  that  hated  thing,  that  she  may  die, 
E'en  in  the  presence  of  her  doting  bridegroom. 

JIc€.  Believe  it  not.     Before  mine  eyes  at  least 
She  shall  not  die,  nor  thou  such  dream  indulge ; 
I  quit  thy  sight  forever.     They  who  list 
May  stand  the  tame  spectators  of  thy  madness. 

l^Exit  Hcemon. 

Ch.  The  youth  has  passed,  my  lord,  in  desperate  wrath : 
A  soul  like  his  may  rush  from  rankling  grief 
To  deeds  of  frenzy. 

Cr.  Let  him  do,  and  dare 
Beyond  the  j)ower  of  man,  he  shall  not  save  her. 

Ch.  What  death  dost  thou  design  her  ? 

Cr.  To  a  spot 
By  mortal  foot  untrodden,  will  I  lead  her. 
And  deep  immure  her  in  a  rocky  cave. 
Leaving  enough  of  sustenance  to  provide 
A  due  atonement,  that  the  state  may  shun 
Pollution  from  her  death.     There  let  her  call 
On  gloomy  Hades,  the  sole  power  she  owns, 
To  shield  her  from  her  doom ;  or  learn,  though  late. 
At  least  this  lesson :  'tis  a  bootless  task 
To  render  homage  to  the  powers  of  hell. 

[Antigone  is  brought  in  and  sentenced,  and  is  finally  confined  in  a 
rock-cavern,  where  she  is  destined  to  perish  of  starvation.  But  quick 
and  dreadful  retribution  comes  to  the  stern  tyrant.  Haamon  breaks 
into  the  living  tomb,  finds  his  betrothed  already  dead,  and  dies  with 
her.  Creon,  threatened  with  a  revolt  of  his  people  for  his  tyranny, 
relents,  and  goes  to  the  cavern  to  release  Antigone.  There  he  learns 
from  a  messenger  what  has  occurred.] 


Sophocles]    THE  CONDEMNATION  OF  ANTIGONE.  43 

3fess.  In  the  fai-thest  corner  of  the  vault 
We  saw  her  hanging  by  the  neck,  with  cord 
Of  linen  threads  entwined,  and  him  we  found 
Clasping  her  form  in  passionate  embrace. 

[On  being  told  of  the  death  of  her  son,  the  mother,  Creon's  wife, 
kills  herself.  A  messenger  brings  this  distracting  tidings  to  Creon,  who 
is  mourning  over  the  dead  body  of  his  son.] 

Mess.  Sorrows  are  deepening  round  thee,  O  my  lord : 
One  source  of  bitterest  grief  thy  hands  sustain ; 
One  waits  within  which  thou  must  soon  behold. 

Cr.  What  yet  remains  to  dreg  the  cup  of  sorrow? 

Mess.  The  queen,  the  mother  of  this  lifeless  youth. 
Hath  died,  unhappy,  by  a  recent  wound. 

ANTISTROPHE   I. 

Cr.  Oh !  thou  inexpiable  home  of  death, 
Why  dost  thou  crush  me  thus  ? 
O  herald  of  o'erwhelming  woes, 
What  horrors  dost  thou  bring  ? — 
Why,  why  press  down  a  wretch  already  lost  ? 
What  hast  thou  said  ?     What  new  despair, 
Eedoubling  woes  on  woes  ? — 
And  to  a  murdered  son 
Dost  thou  then  add  my  wife's  destruction  too  ? — 

Mess.  Thou  mayst  behold  her,  now  no  more,  within. 

ANTISTROPHE   II. 

Cr.  Alas !  I  gaze  upon  a  second  woe. 
What  doom,  ah !  what  awaits  the  victim  still  ? 
In  these  sad  hands  a  lifeless  son  I  bear. 
There  mark  another  recent  corpse.     Woe !  woe  ! 
Sad  mother !  wretched  son ! 

Mess.  Before  the  hallowed  altars,  in  wild  wrath 


44  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sophocles 

She  fell,  and  closed  her  eyes  m  Death's  dull  night, 
Dej)loring  first,  indeed,  th'  illustrious  bed 
Of  Megareus, — long  since  to  death  consigned, — 
Then  this  her  hapless  son  ;  last  on  thy  head 
She  imprecated  curses,  and  i)roelaimed  thee 
The  murderer  of  thy  child. 

STROPHE    III. 

Cr.  Woe  !  woe  is  me  ! 
I  quake  with  horror.     AYill  no  friendly  hand 
In  mercy  plunge  deejD,  deep  the  two-edged  sword  ? 
I  am  a  very  wretch. 
Condemned  to  struggle  with  o'ei'mastering  woes  ! 

Mess.  Ere  yet  she  perished,  with  her  parting  breath, 
She  charged  on  thee  the  fatal  doom  of  both. 

Or.  And  by  what  means  did  death  relieve  her  sorrows  ? 

Mess.  Deej)  in  her  side  she  buried  the  keen  sword, 
Soon  as  her  son's  lamented  doom  she  heard. 

STROPHE   IV. 

Or.  AYretch  that  I  am !  the  guilt  is  all  my  own, 
None  shared  the  deadly  deed  ! 
I  am  alone  the  blood-stained  homicide ; 
'Tis  all  too  clear.     Oh,  lead  me  hence ! 
Attendants,  bear  me  hence !  away, — away, — 
For  I  am  nothing  now ! 

Oh.  Well  dost  thou  judge,  if  in  despair  like  thine 
Aught  can  be  well,  for  heaviest  evils  press 
With  lighter  burden  when  from  sight  removed. 

ANTISTROPHE   III. 

Or.  Come,  then,  oh,  come, 
Shine  forth,  thou  last  and  lightest  of  my  woes, 
Bringing  the  final  and  most  welcome  hour 


Areian]  ALEXANDER  IN  INDIA.  45 

Of  suffering!     Come,  oh,  come,' 

That  I  may  view  the  light  of  heaven  no  more. 

Ch.  These  cares  respect  the  future  :  first  befits 
To  weigli  with  prudent  thought  the  present  crisis. 
Let  those  direct  on  whom  such  charge  devolves. 

Cr.  What  most  my  soul  desires,  I  did  but  make 
My  first  and  warmest  prayer. 

Ch.  Pray  now  for  nothing. 
There  is  no  refuge  for  devoted  man, 
When  fate  consigns  him  to  a  doom  of  woo. 

ANTISTROPHE    IV. 

Or.  Lead  hence  this  lifeless  shade,  far,  far  away, 
Who,  though  unwilling  all, 
Slew  thee,  my  son  !  thee  too,  O  wife  beloved  ! 
Ah !  wretch  !     I  know  not  where  to  look, 
Or  whither  fly.     All  are  against  me  now, — 
Fate  is  itself  my  foe. 

Ch.  There  is  no  guide  to  happiness  on  earth, 
Save  wisdom;  nor  behooves  it  us  to  fail 
In  reverence  to  the  gods  !     High-sounding  vaunts 
Inflict  due  vengeance  on  the  haughty  head. 
And  teach  late  wisdom  to  its  dark  old  age. 


ALEXANDER  IN  INDIA. 

ARRIAN. 

[Plavius  Arrianus,  a  native  of  Nicomedia,  in  Bithynia,  born  about 
100  A.n.,  a  writer  of  great  merit  both  in  history  and  in  philosophy, 
was  an  ardent  disciple  of  Epictetus,  the  celebrated  Stoic  philosopher. 
He  wrote  several  works  upon  the  teachings  of  Epictetus,  Avhich  were 
well  received  in  Athens.     But  his  most  important  production  was  his 


46  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Arriak 

"  History  of  the  Campaigns  of  Alexander  the  Great,"  written  in  imi- 
tation of  Xenophon's  "  Anabasis."  This  work  still  exists  in  a  nearly- 
complete  form.  It  is  written  in  a  simple  and  vivid  manner,  is  particu- 
larly clear  in  its  accounts  of  military  movements,  and  is  undoubtedly 
the  best  and  most  accurate  of  the  numerous  ancient  histories  of  Alex- 
ander. 

We  select,  from  Eooke's  translation,  the  description  of  the  defeat  of 
Porus,  the  only  Indian  monarch  who  vigorously  opposed  the  advance 
of  Alexander  into  India,  and  the  bravest  opponent  he  met  in  his  whole 
military  career.] 

When  Alexander  arrived  at.  the  river  Indus,  he  found 
the  bridge  [which  he  had  ordered  to  be  built]  fully  per- 
fected by  Ilcphaostion,  and  two  large  vessels  built  with 
thirty  oars,  besides  many  more  small  ones.  He  also 
received  the  presents  of  Taxiles,  the  Indian,  being  two 
hundred  talents  of  silver,  three  thousand  oxen,  above 
ten  thousand  sheep,  and  thirty  elephants ;  seven  hundred 
Indian  horse  were  sent  to  his  assistance  by  that  prince, 
who  also  made  him  a  surrender  of  his  capital,  the  largest 
and  most  j^opulous  of  all  the  cities  between  the  rivers 
Indus  and  Hydaspes.  Alexander  there  sacrificed  to  the 
gods  after  the  custom  of  his  country,  and,  having  exhibited 
gymnastic  and  equestrian  sports  on  the  banks  of  that  river, 
the  entrails  promised  him  a  safe  passage  over.  The  Indus 
is  the  largest  of  all  the  rivers  of  Europe  or  Asia,  except 
the  Granges,  which  is  also  in  India. 

Alexander  passed  over  this  river  with  his  army  about 
break  of  day,  and  entered  India ;  and  marching  forward 
arrived  at  Taxila,  a  lai'ge  and  wealthy  city,  and  the  most 
populous  between  the  Indus  and  Hydasjjes.  Taxiles,  prince 
of  the  place,  and  the  Indian  inhabitants  thereof,  received 
him  in  a  friendly  manner,  and  he,  in  return,  added  as 
much  of  the  adjacent  country  to  their  territories  as  they 
requested. 


Arrian]  ALEXANDER  IN  INDIA.  47 

[From  that  point  he  advanced  to  the  Hj'daspes,  beyond  which  lay 
Porus,  the  Indian  king,  with  a  large  army,  fully  prepared  to  dispute 
his  progress.  The  vessels  which  had  been  used  on  the  Indus  were 
taken  to  pieces  and  conveyed  to  the  Hydaspes,  where  they  were  put 
together  again  and  launched  on  that  river.] 

Porus  lay  encamped  on  the  opposite  side,  with  his  whole 
army,  surrounded  by  his  elephants,  who,  whithersoever  he 
perceived  Alexander's  navy  move,  immediately  prepared 
to  defend  the  passage,  and  detached  parties  to  all  the  places 
where  he  knew  the  river  was  fordable,  and  aj^pointed  cap- 
tains over  each,  to  obstruct  the  Macedonians,  if  they  should 
attempt  to  cross  the  river.  Alexander,  perceiving  this, 
resolved  to  divide  his  army,  in  the  same  manner,  into 
several  small  parties,  to  distract  Porus  in  his  resolutions, 
and  render  his  efforts  fruitless ;  which  being  accordingly 
j)erformed,  and  the  several  parties  despatched  several  ways, 
some  were  ordered  to  lay  the  country  waste  in  a  hostile 
manner,  others  to  seek  out  a  place  where  the  river  might 
be  easily  passed  over.  He  also  commanded  vast  stores  of 
corn  to  be  brought  into  his  camj),  from  all  the  country  on 
this  side  of  the  Hydaspes,  that  Porus  might  imagine  he 
would  remain  in  his  present  encampment  till  the  waters 
of  the  river  fell  away  in  the  winter  season,  for  then  he 
might  force  his  way  over  with  his  army,  in  spite  of  all 
opposition.  His  ships  being  therefore  drawn  this  way  and 
that,  and  the  coverings  of  his  tents  stuffed  with  light 
buoyant  matter,  as  usual,  and  the  whole  bank  thoroughly 
lined  with  horse  and  foot,  he  suffered  Porus  to  take  no 
rest,  and  rendered  him  thereby  wholly  incapable  of  dis- 
cerning where  the  storm  would  fall,  or  how  best  to  prepare 
for  the  safety  of  himself  and  his  army.  About  that  time 
of  the  year  (for  it  was  then  near  the  summer  solstice)  all 
the  rivers  of  India  are  full  of  water,  and  consequently 
muddy  and  rapid ;  for  heavy  and  frequent  rains  then  fall 


48  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Arrian 

thi-oughout  all  the  country,  and,  besides,  the  snow  upon 
Mount  Caucasus  [the  Hindoo-Koosh]  melting  with  heat, 
the  streams  are  thereby  exceedingly  augmented ;  but  the 
snow  again  congealing  in  winter,  and  the  rains  ceasing, 
the  rivers  become  clearer  and  shallower,  insomuch  that  all 
of  them  are  fordable  in  some  place  or  other,  except  the 
Indus  and  Ganges,  and  perhaps  one  more ;  however,  the 
Hydaspes  may  certainly  be  passed  over  by  fords. 

[Alexander  caused  the  report  to  be  circulated  that  he  would  wait  till 
the  fall  of  the  river  before  attempting  to  cross.  For  several  nights, 
however,  he  made  apparent  efibrts  to  cross,  at  diflerent  points,  with 
great  noise,  until  Porus,  coming  to  regard  them  as  feints,  ceased  to 
pay  attention  to  them.  The  place  selected  for  the  actual  crossing  was 
where  a  wooded  island  occupied  part  of  the  width  of  the  river,  while 
some  rocks  also  offered  concealment.  Here  the  passage  was  begun  on 
a  dark  and  rainy  night,  and  the  island  reached  without  giving  alarm  to 
the  guards  which  Porus  had  posted  on  the  opposite  bank.  As  soon  as 
an  endeavor  was  made  to  cross  the  remaining  channel  the  alarm  was 
given,  and  the  Indian  guards  hastened  with  the  news  to  the  army.  An 
opposing  force  was  sent,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  it  reached  the  point  in 
time  to  oppose  the  landing  of  the  vanguard.  The  son  of  Porus  headed 
the  attacking  column,  which  was  assailed  by  Alexander  at  the  head  of 
a  body  of  horse,  and  put  to  flight.] 

Four  hundred  of  the  Indian  horse  were  there  slain,  and 
among  them  Porus's  son ;  and  most  of  their  chariots,  with 
their  horses,  were  taken,  they  being  heavy  and  troublesome 
in  flight,  and  even  in  the  battle  (by  reason  of  the  sliiDi^ery 
soil  of  the  place)  altogether  unserviceable. 

As  soon  as  the  horse  who  had  escaped  from  this  conflict 
arrived  at  their  main  body,  and  gave  Porus  notice  that 
Alexander  was  already  passed  over  the  river  with  the 
greatest  part  of  his  army,  and  that  his  son  was  slain  in 
battle,  he  was  so  moved  that  he  knew  not  what  course  to 
take ;  especially  because  the  forces  which  were  posted  over 


Arrian]  ALEXANDER  IN  INDIA.  49 

against  his  grand  camp,  and  commanded  by  Craterus,  were 
also  endeavoring  to  pass  the  river.  However,  at  last  he 
resolved  to  march  against  Alexander,  and  attack  the  Mace- 
donians, as  the  strongest  body,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
leave  a  part  of  the  army,  and  some  elephants,  behind  in 
the  camp,  to  frighten  Craterus's  horse  as  they  approached 
the  bank  of  the  river. 

He  therefore,  with  his  whole  body  of  horse,  which  were 
about  four  thousand,  and  three  hundred  chariots,  with  two 
hundred  elephants,  and  near  thirty  thousand  foot,  marched 
forward ;  and  when  he  came  to  a  plain  where  the  soil  was 
not  incommodious  by  reason  of  the  slippery  clay,  but  firm 
and  sandy  and  every  way  fit  for  wheeling  his  chariots 
around  upon,  he  resolved  there  to  draw  up  his  arni}^,  which 
he  did  in  the  following  manner.  First,  he  placed  the  ele- 
phants in  the  front,  at  the  distance  of  one  hundred  feet 
from  each  other,  to  cover  the  whole  body  of  foot,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  strike  a  terror  into  Alexander's  horse ; 
for  he  imagined  that  none,  either  horse  or  foot,  would  be 
80  hardy  as  to  endeavor  to  penetrate  through  the  spaces 
between  the  elephants:  the  horsemen,  he  thought,  could 
Bot,  because  their  horses  would  be  terrified  at  the  sight ; 
and  the  foot  would  not  dare,  because  the  armed  soldiers 
would  be  ready  to  gall  them  on  each  hand,  and  the  ele- 
phants to  trample  them  under  their  feet.  The  foot  possessed 
the  next  rank ;  they  were  not  indeed  placed  in  the  same 
order  with  the  elephants,  but  so  small  a  way  behind  that 
they  seemed  to  fill  up  the  interstices.  At  the  extremity 
of  each  wing  he  placed  elephants  bearing  huge  wooden 
towers,  wherein  were  armed  men ;  the  foot  were  defended 
on  each  hand  by  the  horse,  and  the  horse  by  the  chariots, 
which  were  placed  before  them.  .  .  . 

The  Indians  first  led  on  their  horse  to  resist  the  attacks 
of  Alexander,  when  immediately  Csenus,  with  his  forces, 
I. — c        d  5 


50  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Arrian 

fell  uj)Oii  them  in  flank ;  this  caused  them  to  divide  their 
forces  into  two  parts,  and  resolve  to  lead  the  best  and  most 
numerous  of  them  against  Alexander,  and  face  about  with 
the  other  to  meet  Csenus;  and  this  served  to  break  the 
ranks,  as  well  as  the  courage,  of  the  Indians.  Alexander, 
taking  the  opportunity  of  their  dividing  their  forces,  im- 
mediately rushed  forward  upon  that  party  designed  against 
him,  which  were  scarce  able  to  sustain  the  first  shock  of 
his  horse,  for  they  fled  to  the  elephants,  as  to  a  friendly 
wall,  for  refuge,  whose  governors  stirred  up  the  beasts 
to  trample-  down  the  horse ;  but  the  Macedonian  phalanx 
galled  not  only  the  beasts  themselves,  but  their  riders  also, 
with  their  arrows.  This  was  a  manner  of  fighting  alto- 
gether new  and  unheard  of  among  the  Macedonians ;  for 
which  way  soever  the  elephants  turned,  the  ranks  of  foot, 
however  firm,  were  forced  to  give  way. 

The  Indian  horse,  now  perceiving  their  foot  in  the  heat 
of  action,  rallied  again,  and  attacked  Alexander's  horse  a 
second  time,  but  were  again  forced  back  with  loss  (because 
they  were  far  inferior  to  them,  not  only  in  number,  but  in 
military  discipline),  and  retreated  among  the  elephants. 
And  now  all  Alexander's  horse  being  joined  together  in 
one  body  (not  by  any  command  of  his,  but  by  chance,  and 
a  casual  event  in  the  battle),  wherever  they  fell  upon  the 
Indians  they  made  dreadful  havoc  among  them.  And  the 
beasts,  being  now  pent  up  in  a  narrow  space  and  violently 
enraged,  did  no  lees  mischief  to  their  own  men  than  the 
enemy;  and  as  they  tossed  and  moved  about,  multitudes 
were  trampled  to  death ;  besides,  the  horse  being  confined 
among  the  elephants,  a  huge  slaughter  ensued,  for  many 
of  the  governors  of  the  beasts  being  slain  by  archers,  the 
elephants  themselves,  partly  enraged  by  their  wounds  and 
partly  for  want  of  riders,  no  longer  kept  any  certain  sta- 
tion in  the  battle,  but,  running  forward  as  if  madness  had 


Arrian]  ALEXANDER  IN  INDIA.  51 

seized  them,  they  pushed  down,  slew,  and  trampled  under 
foot  friends  and  foes  without  distinction. 

Only  the  Macedonians,  having  the  advantage  of  a  more 
free  and  open  space,  gave  way  and  made  room  for  the 
furious  beasts  to  rush  through  their  ranks,  but  slew  them 
whenever  they  attempted  to  return ;  but  the  beasts  at  last, 
quite  wearied  out  with  wounds  and  toils,  were  no  longer 
able  to  jjush  with  their  usual  force,  but  only  made  a  hideous 
noise,  and,  moving  their  forefeet  heavily,  passed  out  of  the 
battle.  Alexander,  having  surrounded  all  the  enemy's 
horse  with  his,  made  a  signal  for  the  foot  to  close  their 
shields  fast  together  and  hasten  that  way  in  a  firm  body, 
and  by  this  means  the  Indian  horse,  being  every  way  over- 
powered, were  almost  all  slain.  Nor  was  the  fate  of  their 
foot  much  better;  for  the  Macedonians,  pressing  them 
vehemently  on  all  sides,  made  a  great  destruction  among 
them,  and  at  last  all  of  them  (except  those  whom  Alexan- 
der's horse  had  hemmed  in),  perceiving  their  case  desperate, 
turned  their  backs  and  fled. 

In  the  mean  while,  Craterus,  and  the  captains  who  were 
with  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  no  sooner  perceived 
the  victory  to  incline  to  the  Macedonians  than  they  passed 
over,  and  made  a  dismal  slaughter  of  the  Indians  in  the 
pursuit;  and,  being  fresh  soldiers,  they  succeeded  those  who 
had  been  wearied  out  in  the  heat  of  the  battle.  Of  the 
Indian  foot,  little  less  than  twenty  thousand  fell  that  day ; 
of  their  horse,  about  three  thousand".  All  their  chariots 
were  hacked  to  pieces ;  two  of  Porus's  sons  were  slain,  as 
was  Spitaces,  governor  of  that  province,  all  the  managers 
of  their  elephants,  and  their  charioteers ;  and  almost  all  the 
captains  of  horse,  as  well  as  of  foot,  belonging  to  Porus. 
The  elej)hants  also  which  were  not  killed  were  every  one 
taken.  Of  Alexander's  foot,  which  consisted  at  first  of  six 
thousand,  and  gave  the  first  onset,  about  eighty  were  lost ; 


52  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Arrian 

of  his  equestrian  archers,  ten ;  of  the  auxiliary  horse, 
twenty ;  and  of  all  the  rest  of  the  troops  of  horse,  about 
two  hundred. 

Porus,  who  behaved  himself  with  the  utmost  prudence, 
and  acted  the  part  not  only  of  an  experienced  general,  but 
of  a  stout  soldier,  all  that  day,  seeing  the  slaughter  made 
among  his  horse,  and  some  of  his  elephants  lying  dead, 
others  without  managers,  running  about  mad  with  their 
wounds,  and  the  greatest  part  of  his  foot  cut  off,  behaved 
not  like  King  Darius,  who  left  the  field  among  the  very 
first  of  his  troops,  but  as  long  as  he  could  see  any  party  of 
his  Indians  keep  their  ground  he  fought  bravely ;  and  re- 
ceiving a  wound  on  the  right  shoulder,  which  j)lace  alone 
was  bare  during  the  action  (for  his  coat  of  mail,  being 
excellent  both  for  strength  and  workmanship,  as  it  after- 
wax'ds  appeared,  easily  secured  the  rest  of  his  body),  he 
turned  his  elephant  out  of  the  battle  and  fled. 

Alexander,  having  observed  his  gallant  and  generous 
behavior  in  that  day's  action,  desired  above  all  things  to 
have  his  life  saved,  and  accordingly  sent  Taxiles,  the  Indian 
prince,  to  him,  who,  when  he  overtook  him  and  came  as 
near  as  was  safe,  for  fear  of  his  elephant,  requested  him  to 
stop  his  beast  (for  that  all  his  endeavors  to  escape  were 
vain)  and  receive  Alexander's  commands.  Porus,  seeing 
it  was  Taxiles,  his  old  enemy,  ran  against  him  with  his 
spear,  and  had  perhaps  slain  him,  if  he  had  not  immedi- 
ately turned  away  his  horse  and  escaped  out  of  his  sight. 
However,  all  this  was  not  sufficient  to  incense  Alexander 
against  him ;  but  he  sent  others,  and  after  them  more, 
among  whom  was  Meroe,  an  Indian,  because  he  undersood 
that  there  had  been  an  old  friendship  between  him  and 
Porus.  Porus,  overcome  with  Meroe's  exhortations  and 
almost  dead  with  thirst,  caused  his  elephant  to  kneel  down, 
and  then  alighted  from  him;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  re- 


Horace]  A    CLUSTER   OF  ODES.  53 

freshed  himself  with  a  little  water,  he  accompanied  Meroe 
to  Alexander. 

Alexander,  being  informed  of  the  approach  of  Porus, 
advanced  a  little  forward  before  his  army,  and,  accompanied 
by  some  of  his  friends,  went  to  meet  him.  Stopping  his 
horse,  he  was  seized  with  admiration  at  Porus' b  tallness 
(for  he  was  about  five  cubits  high),  as  well  as  at  his  beauty 
and  the  just  proportions  of  his  body ;  and  he  was  no  less 
amazed  to  find  he  seemed  still  far  from  entertaining  any 
humble  or  servile  ideas  in  his  mind,  though  he  was  con- 
quered. He  considered,  besides,  that  he  was  a  generous 
man  who  had  contended  with  another  of  equal  generosity, 
and  that  he  was  a  king  who  had  striven  to  preserve  his 
dominions  from  the  invasion  of  another  king.  Then  Alex- 
ander, first  directing  his  discourse  to  him,  commanded  him 
to  ask  what  he  should  do  for  him  ?  To  which  Porus  made 
answer,  "  that  he  would  use  him  royally."  Alexander, 
smiling,  replied,  •'  That  I  would  do  for  my  own  sake ;  but 
say,  what  shall  I  do  for  thine  ?"  Porus  told  him  all  his 
wishes  were  summed  up  in  his  first  petition.  Alexander, 
overjoyed  at  this  answer  of  his,  not  only  restored  him 
straight  to  liberty  and  the  full  possession  of  his  former 
dominions,  but  also  gave  him  another  empire  beyond  his 
own,  and  treated  him  in  so  generous  and  so  royal  a  manner 
that  he  ever  after  had  him  his  fast  friend. 


A  CLUSTER  OF  ODES. 

HORACE. 

[The  most  renowned  lyric  poet  of  antiquity,  Quintus  Horatius  Flac- 
cus,  familiarly  known  as  Horace,  was  the  son  of  a  freedman  of  Venusia, 
in  Apulia,  where  he  was  born  65  B.C.     After  some  vicissitudes  in  early 
I.  6* 


54  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Horace 

life,  he  became  favorably  known,  through  his  literary  efforts,  to  Virgil 
and  Varius,  then  the  leading  poets  of  Kome,  who  inti'oduced  him  to 
Maecenas,  the  powerful  patron  of  literature,  with  whom  he  afterwards 
enjoyed  uninterrupted  intimacy.  His  life  was  spent  between  the  city 
of  Eome  and  a  small  estate  he  possessed  near  Tivoli,  where  he  died  in 
his  fifty-seventh  year. 

The  first  known  poems  of  Horace  were  his  Satires ;  which  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  Epodes,  a  series  of  poems  in  imitation  of  the  Greek  satirist 
Archilochus.  His  Odes  were  next  published,  though  many  of  them 
had  probably  been  written  in  early  life.  He  also  wrote  two  books  of 
poetical  Epistles,  and  some  other  works. 

As  a  man,  Horace  was  of  refined  tastes  and  genial  manner,  adroit  in 
compliment,  but  no  flatterer.  He  was  vain  of  his  poetical  reputation, 
but  in  character  was  candid  and  sincere.  As  a  poet  he  stands,  in  his 
special  vein,  without  an  equal.  His  Satires  are  a  creation  peculiarly 
his  own.  They  have  none  of  the  bitterness  of  Lucilius,  the  indigna- 
tion of  Juvenal,  or  the  love  of  purity  of  Perseus,  but  are  written  from 
the  position  of  a' man  of  the  world,  treating  vices  as  follies,  and  sketch- 
ing a  good-humored  picture  of  the  viciousness  of  Koman  social  life. 
The  Epistles  are  a  graver  edition  of  the  Satires,  with  the  addition  of  a 
fine  vein  of  personal  emotion  and  reflection,  and  a  tinge  of  melancholy, 
which  make  them,  on  the  whole,  the  most  valuable  of  the  works  of 
Horace. 

But  it  is  to  the  Odes  that  we  must  look  for  his  finest  display  of  poet- 
ical genius.  It  is  only  in  these  inimitable  lyrics  that  we  gain,  in  beauty 
of  sentiment,  grace  of  language,  and  melody  of  versification,  a  full 
conception  of  the  powers  of  their  writer.  They  cover  every  field  of 
the  lyric,  from  the  grandest  subjects  of  history  and  mythology  to  the 
simplest  themes  of  every-day  life.  They  breathe  now  all  the  gayety, 
now  all  the  sadness,  of  the  ancient  mind,  with  a  charm  that  is  irre- 
sistible. He  frequently  imitates,  and  even  adopts,  the  very  ideas  and 
phrases  of  the  Greek  lyrists,  but  he  makes  them  so  completely  his  own 
that  they  seem  rather  improved  on  than  plagiarized.  His  Odes,  indeed, 
possess  a  delicacy  of  insight,  a  fineness  of  touch,  and  a  power  of  minute 
finish  which  very  few  writers  have  exhibited,  and  which  have  rendered 
them  models  of  construction,  valuable  to  poets  of  every  school.  The 
literature  pertaining  to  Horace  in  modern  Europe  is  enormous,  no 
ancient  writer  having  been  more  studied  and  commented  on,  or  more 
frequently  translated.  We  give,  from  various  translators,  some  exam- 
ples of  these  world-famous  Odes.] 


Horace]  A   CLUSTER   OF  ODES.  55 

TO   LYDIA. 

Swains  in  numbers 
Break  your  slumbers, 
Saucy  Lydia,  now  but  seldom, 

Ay,  though  at  your  casement  nightly, 
Tapping  loudly,  tapping  lightly, 
By  the  dozen  once  ye  held  them. 

Ever  turning, 
Night  and  morning. 
Swung  your  door  upon  its  hinges ; 

Now,  from  dawn  till  evening's  closing, 
Lone  and  desolate  reposing, 
Not  a  sole  its  rest  infringes. 

Serenaders, 
Sweet  invaders, 
Scanter  grow,  and  daily  scanter, 
Singing,  Lydia,  art  thou  sleeping  ? 
Lonely  watch  thy  love  is  keeping ! 
"Wake,  oh,  wake,  thou  dear  enchanter ! 

Lorn  and  faded, 
You,  as  they  did, 
Woo,  and  in  your  turn  are  slighted ; 
Worn  and  torn  by  passion's  fret, 
You,  the  pitiless  coquette, 
Waste  by  fires  yourself  have  lighted. 

Late  relenting. 
Left  lamenting. 
Withered  leaves  strew  wintry  brooks  I 
Ivy  garlands  greenly  darkling, 
Myrtles  brown  with  dew-drops  sparkling. 
Best  beseem  youth's  glowing  looks !  Maktin. 


56  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Horace 

TO   PYRRHA. 

What  slender  youth,  bedewed  with  liquid  odors, 
Courts  thee  on  roses  in  some  pleasant  cave, 

Pyrrha  ?     For  whom  bind'st  thou 

In  wreaths  thy  golden  hair, 
Plain  in  thy  neatness  ?     Oh,  how  oft  shall  he 
On  fiiith  and  changed  gods  complain,  and  seas, 

Rough  with  black  winds,  and  storms 

Unwonted  shall  admire  I 
Who  now  enjoys  thee  credulous,  all  gold. 
Who  always  vacant,  always  amiable 

Hopes  thee,  of  flattering  gales 

Unmindful.     Hapless  they. 
To  whom  thou  unti'ied  seem'st  fair!    Me,  in  my  vow'd 
Picture,  the  sacred  wall  declares  to  have  hung 

My  dank  and  dropjjing  weeds 

To  the  stern  God  of  Sea.  Milton. 

[Milton's  version  has  rendered  this  fine  ode  famous  in  English  liter- 
ature. Yet  there  are  other  translations  in  which  its  sense  is  more 
clearly  rendered.     One  of  these  we  append.] 

TO    PYRRHA. 

(Second  Version.) 
What  youth,  O  Pyrrha !  blooming  fair, 
With  rose-twined  wreath  and  j)erfumed  hair, 
Wooes  thee  beneath  yon  grotto's  shade, 

Urgent  in  prayer  and  amorous  glance  ? 
Por  whom  dost  thou  thy  tresses  braid. 

Simple  in  thine  elegance  ? 
Alas !  full  soon  shall  he  deplore 

Thy  broken  faith,  thine  altered  mien  : 
Like  one  astonished  at  the  roar 
Of  breakers  on  a  leeward  shore. 

Whom  gentle  airs  and  skies  serene 


Horace]  A   CLUSTER   OF  ODES.  57 

Had  tempted  on  the  treacherous  deep, 
So  he  thy  perfidy  shall  weep 
Who  now  enjoys  thee  fair  and  kind, 
But  dreams  not  of  the  shifting  wind. 

Thrice  wretched  they,  deluded  and  betrayed, 
Who  trust  thy  glittering  smile  and  siren  tongue  ! 
I  have  escaped  the  shipwreck,  and  have  hung 

In  Neptune's  fane  my  dripping  vest  displayed 

With  votive  tablet  on  his  altar  laid  ; 

Thanking  the  sea-god  for  his  timely  aid. 

Lord  Ravenstvood. 


[In  a  different  vein  of  thought  is  the  following  admired  ode.] 

TO   DELLIUS. 

In  adverse  hours  an  equal  mind  maintain, 

Nor  let  your  spirit  rise  too  high 
Though  Fortune  kindly  change  the  scene : 
Eemember,  Dellius,  you  were  born  to  die. 

Whether  your  life  in  sorrows  pass, 

And  sadly  joyless  glide  away ; 
Whether,  reclining  on  the  grass. 
You  bless  with  choicer  wine  the  festal  day. 

Where  the  pale  poplar  and  the  pine 
Expel  the  sun's  intemperate  beam, 
In  hospitable  shade  their  branches  twine, 
And  winds  with  toil,  though  swift,  the  tremulous  stream. 

Here  pour  your  wines,  your  odors  shed. 

Bring  forth  the  rose's  short-lived  flower. 
While  fate  yet  spins  thy  mortal  thread, 
While  youth  and  fortune  give  th'  indulgent  hour. 


58  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Horace 

Your  purchased  woods,  your  house  of  state, 

Your  villa,  washed  by  Tiber's  wave, 
You  ruust,  my  Dellius,  yield  to  fate, 
And  to  your  heir  these  high-piled  treasures  leave. 

Whether  you  boast  a  monarch's  birth, 

While  wealth  unbounded  round  you  flows, 
Or  poor,  and  sprung  from  vulgar  earth, 
No  pity  for  his  victim  Pluto  knows. 

We  all  must  tread  the  paths  of  fate. 

And  ever  shakes  the  mortal  urn. 
Whose  lot  embarks  us,  soon  or  late. 
On  Charon's  boat,  ah !  never  to  return.  Francis. 

[In  the  same  philosophic  vein  is  couched  the  favorite  ode  next  given ; 
rendered  melodiously,  though  not  quite  literally,  by  an  English  poet 
in  full  sympathy  with  its  sentiment.] 

TO  LICINIUS. 

Eeceive,  dear  friend,  the  truths  I  teach ; 
So  shalt  thou  live  beyond  the  reach 

Of  adverse  Fortune's  power : 
Not  always  tempt  the  distant  deep, 
Nor  always  timorously  creep 

Along  the  treacherous  shore. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  golden  mean, 
And  lives  contentedly  between 

The  little  and  the  great. 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  poor, 
Nor  plagues  that  haunt  the  rich  man's  door, 

Embittering  all  his  state. 

The  tallest  pines  feel  most  the  power 
Of  wintry  blasts ;  the  loftiest  tower 


Horace]  A   CLUSTER   OF  ODES.  59 

Comes  heaviest  to  the  ground ; 
The  bolts  that  spare  the  mountain's  side 
His  cloud-capt  eminence  divide, 

And  spread  the  ruin  round. 

The  well-informed  philosopher 
Eejoices  with  a  wholesome  fear, 

And  hopes  in  spite  of  pain  ; 
If  winter  bellow  from  the  north, 
Soon  the  sweet  spring  comes  dancing  forth, 

And  Nature  laughs  again. 

What  if  thine  heaven  be  overcast  ? 
The  dark  appearance  will  not  last ; 

Expect  a  brighter  sky. 
The  god  that  strings  the  silver  bow 
Awakes  sometimes  the  Muses  too. 

And  lays  his  arrows  by. 

If  hindrances  obstruct  thy  way, 
Thy  magnanimity  disj)lay. 

And  let  thy  strength  be  seen ; 
But  O  !  if  Fortune  fill  thy  sail 
With  more  than  a  propitious  gale. 

Take  half  thy  canvas  in !  Co-wpek. 

[In  the  same  vein  of  philosophy  and  contentment  is  the  following 
graceful  ode.] 

TO    M.a;CENAS, 

For  thee,  within  my  mansion,  wait 

A  virgin  cask  of  mellow  wine, 
Eose-buds  and  essence  of  the  date 
To  scent  thy  hair,  O  Prince  of  Tuscan  line ! 


60  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Horace 

Leave  thy  satiety  of  state, 

Thy  tower,  that  touches  on  the  clouds  j 
Kor  muse  on  prosperous  Eome,  elate. 
Her  smoke,  her  pomp,  the  clamor  of  her  crowds. 

The  rich  have  found  these  changes  sweet ; 
And  pure  and  homely  meals,  that  know 
No  tapestried  Avails,  nor  purple  seat. 
Have  smoothed  to  gayety  the  wrinkled  brow. 

The  present,  calm  and  wise,  dispose ; 

The  rest  is  canned  spite  of  thee ; 
Even  as  a  river  level  flows 
In  peaceful  channel  to  the  Tuscan  sea : 

But,  chafed  by  floods,  it  saps  the  rocks, 

And,  headlong,  from  the  crumbling  shore 
Eolls  shattered  trees,  and  huts,  and  flocks ; 
The  neighboring  woods  and  mountains  swell  the  roar. 

He's  master  of  himself,  who  cries, 

Eejoicing,  "  I  have  lived  to-day !" 
Let  Jove  o'ercloud  to-moiTow's  skies. 
Or  clear  expand  them  in  the  sunny  ray ; 

But  not  Omnipotence  has  j)Ower 

To  make  the  backward  blessing  void  ; 
JSTew  form  the  past  and  fleeted  hour, 
Or  bid  the  joys  that  were^  be  unenjoyed. 

Fortune,  whom  busy  mischiefs  please, 

Still  wilful  bent  on  taunting  wiles, 
Transfers  her  gifts  from  those  to  these, 
To  me,  and  to  another,  throws  her  smiles. 


Horace]  A    CLUSTER   OF  ODES.  61 

1  praise  her  stay ;  but  if  she  shake 
Her  wings,  I  bid  her  favors  fly ; 
Wrapt  in  my  virtues,  refuge  take. 
And  hug  my  honest,  dowerless  poverty. 

Elton. 

[JFrom  the  Satires  we  select  the  following  pleasant  praise  of  rural 
life,  which  the  poet,  if  his  verse  is  warrant  for  the  belief,  esteemed  far 
above  the  turmoil  and  dissipation  of  the  city,  or  the  allurements  of 
wealth  and  power.]  • 


COUNTRY   LIFE. 

I  often  wished  I  had  a  farm, 
A  decent  dwelling,  snug  and  warm, 
A  garden,  and  a  spring  as  pure 
As  crystal,  running  by  my  door. 
Besides  a  little  ancient  grove. 
Where  at  my  leisure  I  might  rove. 

The  gracious  gods,  to  crown  my  bliss, 
Have  granted  this,  and  more  than  this ; 
I  have  enough  in  my  possessing : 
'Tis  well :  I  ask  no  other  blessing, 
O  Hermes,  than,  remote  from  strife. 
To  have  and  hold  them  for  my  life. 

If  I  was  never  known  to  raise 
My  fortune  by  dishonest  ways, 
Nor,  like  the  spendthrift  of  the  times. 
Shall  ever  sink  it  by  my  crimes ; 
If  thus  I  neither  pray  nor  ponder, — 
Oh,  might  I  have  that  angle  yonder. 
Which  disproportions  now  my  field. 
What  satisfaction  it  would  yield ! 
Oh  that  some  lucky  chance  but  threw 
A  pot  of  silver  to  my  view, 

6 


62  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [HoRAca 

As  lately  to  the  man  who  bought 

The  very  land  on  which  he  wrought ! — 

If  I  am  pleased  with  my  condition, 

Oh,  hear  and  grant  this  last  petition : 

Indulgent,  let  my  cattle  batten ; 

Let  all  things,  but  my  fancy,  fatten  ; 

And  thou  continue  still  to  guard. 

As  thou  art  wont,  thy  suppliant  bard  I 

Whilst  losing  in  Eome's  busy  maze 

The  calm  and  sunshine  of  my  days. 

How  oft  with  fervor  I  repeat, 

"  When  shall  I  see  my  sweet  retreat  ? 

Oh,  when  with  books  of  sages  deep, 

Sequestered  ease,  and  gentle  sleep, 

In  soft  oblivion,  blissful  balm. 

The  busy  cares  of  life  becalm  ? 

Oh,  when  shall  I  enrich  my  veins, 

Spite  of  Pythagoras,  with  beans. 

Or  live  luxurious  in  my  cottage 

On  bacon-ham  and  savory  pottage  ? 

O  joyous  nights !  delicious  feasts ! 

At  which  the  gods  might  be  my  guests !" 

There  every  guest  may  drink  and  fill 

As  much,  or  little,  as  he  will. 

Exempted  from  the  bedlam  rules 

Of  roaring  prodigals  and  fools, 

Whether  in  merry  mood  or  whim 

He  fills  his  bumper  to  the  brim. 

Or,  better  pleased  to  let  it  pass. 

Grows  mellow  with  a  moderate  glass. 

Francis. 

[We  close  this  series  of  selections  with  a  short  extract  from  the 
Epistles,  which  is  overflowing  with  the  worldly  wisdom  of  the  genial 
poet.] 


Horace]  A    CLUSTER   OF  ODES.  63 

ON   THE   REGULATION    OP   THE   MIND. 

We  arc  but  woi'thless  ciphers ;  things  just  born 

To  waste  the  fruits  of  earth ;  kixurious  suitors 

Of  a  Penelope ;  vile  prodigals  ; 

Trim  courtiers  of  Alcinous,  who  show, 

In  their  plump  ease,  the  superfluity 

Of  daintiness ;  who  deem  it  true  delight 

To  slumber  till  the  noon,  and  soothe  away, 

To  sounds  of  tinkling  harps,  the  thoughts  of  care. 
********** 

The  deed  begun 
Is  half  accomplished ;  dare,  then,  to  be  wise  j 
Begin ;  the  man  who  still  postpones  the  hour 
Of  living  well  is  like  the  clown,  who  waits 
Till  the  whole  river  shall  have  flowed  away : 
The  rolling  river  glides  before  his  eyes. 
And  so  shall  glide,  forever  and  forever. 
Spiu'n  guilty  pleasures ;  pleasure  is  but  pain 
If  bought  with  penitence.     The  covetous  man 
Is  ever  craving.     Set  a  certain  bound 
To  each  unruly  wish.     The  envious  wretch 
G-rows  lean  by  gazing  on  another's  fatness. 
No  tyi-ant  of  Sicilia  could  invent 
A  torment  worse  than  envy.     He  that  knows  not 
To  moderate  sudden  wrath  shall  wish  undone 
That  which  his  will  and  his  resentment  urge, 
And,  with  impatient  violence,  draw  on 
His  own  sure  punishment,  and  yet  his  hate 
Be  unrevcnged.     All  anger  of  the  mind 
Is  a  short  madness.     Govern,  then,  the  mind, 
Which  must  obey  or  gain  the  mastery ! 
Bind  it  with  curbs,  and  fetter  it  with  chains. 
'Tis  thus  the  master  of  the  manege  forms 


64  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plato 

Tlie  docile  colt,  while  yet  his  mouth  is  soft, 
To  turn  the  way  the  rider  guides  the  rein ; 
And  the  staunch  hound,  since  practised  first  to  bay 
The  deer-skin  in  the  court,  with  well-trained  nose 
Hunts  in  the  woods.     Then  now,  ingenuous  boy ! 
]^ow  lay  the  words  of  wisdom  to  thy  breast 
While  yet  thy  breast  is  pure  ;  now  seek  thy  elders 
Who  can  instruct  thee :  the  new  cask  will  long 
Eetain  the  flavor  which  it  first  imbibed. 

Elton. 


THE  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

PLATO. 

[Plato,  wlio  divides  with  Aristotle  the  highest  fame  ever  attained  by 
philosophers,  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  born  in  the  golden  age  of  the 
Grecian  intellect,  and  in  Athens,  the  centre  of  Grecian  thought.  He 
had  the  equally  good  fortune  to  be  the  disciple  of  Socrates,  he  who  first 
taught  the  Athenians  that  there  is  a  philosophy  of  the  soul  as  well  as 
of  the  body,  and  who  maintained  that  the  study  of  mental  science  is 
of  far  more  importance  to  man  than  that  of  physical  science.  Plato 
was  bom  429  B.C.  He  was  of  good  family,  had  every  advantage  of 
education,  and  improved  himself  greatly  by  travel.  In  his  fortieth 
year  he  returned  to  Athens,  and  opened  his  celebrated  school  known  as 
the  Academy.  Here  the  remainder  of  his  life,  with  the  exception  of 
two  visits  to  Sicily,  was  tranquilly  passed  in  the  midst  of  a  large  circle 
of  distinguished  followers,  and  in  the  unfoldment  of  those  philosophic 
doctrines  which  have  shed  such  lustre  on  his  name.  He  died  at  the 
age  of  eighty-two. 

The  principles  of  his  philosophy  are  well  known,  as  his  works  have, 
fortunatelj',  been  preserved.  In  these  the  imagination  of  the  poet  is 
happily  blended  with  the  reasoning  of  the  philosopher,  producing  the 
fine  myths  which  form  the  peroration  of  some  of  his  dialogues,  and 
the  dramatic  form  into  which  his  speculations  are  thrown.  Socrates  is 
usually  introduced  as  the  chief  speaker  in  these  dialogues,  employs  his 


Plato]  THE  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES.  65 

shrewd  method  of  questioning  to  unfold  the  problem  involved,  and 
commonly  ends  with  an  exposition  of  the  subject  in  which  Plato's  own 
views  are  probably  embodied. 

We  select  from  the  dialogue  entitled  "  Phredo"  its  pathetic  account 
of  the  final  conversation  and  the  philosophic  death  of  Socrates.  The 
scene  of  the  dialogue  is  the  prison  of  Socrates,  where  several  of  his 
disciples  are  assembled.  The  conversation  has  been  on  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  in  whose  favor  Socrates  has  argued.  We  give,  in  Gary's 
translation,  the  continuation  of  the  remarks  of  Socrates,  and  the  final 
scene.] 

"  But  it  is  right,  ray  friends,  that  we  should  consider 
this,  that  if  the  soul  is  immortal  it  requires  our  care  not 
only  for  the  present  time,  which  we  call  life,  but  for  all 
time ;  and  the  danger  would  now  appear  to  be  dreadful  if 
one  should  neglect  it.  For  if  death  were  a  deliverance 
from  everything  it  would  be  a  great  gain  for  the  wicked, 
when  they  die,  to  be  delivered  at  the  same  time  from  the 
body,  and  from  their  vices  together  with  the  soul.  But 
now,  since  it  appears  to  be  immortal,  it  can  have  no  other 
refuge  from  evils,  nor  safety,  except  by  becoming  as  good 
and  wise  as  jjossible.  For  the  soul  goes  to  Hades,  possess- 
ing nothing  else  but  its  discipline  and  education,  which  are 
said  to  be  of  the  greatest  advantage  or  detriment  to  the 
dead  on  the  very  beginning  of  his  journey  thither.  For 
thus  it  is  said ;  that  each  person's  demon  who  was  assigned 
to  him  while  living,  when  he  dies  conducts  him  to  some 
place  where  they  that  are  assembled  together  must  receive 
sentence,  and  then  proceed  to  Hades  with  that  guide,  who 
has  been  ordered  to  conduct  them  from  hence  thither.  But 
these  having  received  their  deserts,  and  having  remained 
the  appointed  time,  another  guide  brings  them  back  hither 
again,  after  many  and  long  revolutions  of  time. 

"The  journey,  then,  is  not   such   as   the   Telejihus  of 
jEschylus  describes  it.     For  he  saj^s  that  a  simple  path 
leads  to  Hades  ;  but  it  appears  to  me  to  be  neither  simple 
I.— e  6* 


66  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plato 

nor  one ;  for  there  would  be  no  need  of  guides,  nor  could 
any  one  ever  miss  the  way,  if  there  were  but  one.  But 
now  it  appears  to  have  many  divisions  and  windings ;  and 
this  I  conjecture  from  our  religious  and  funeral  rites.  The 
well-ordered  and  wise  soul,  then,  both  follows,  and  is  not 
ignorant  of,  its  present  condition  ;  but  that  which  through 
passion  clings  to  the  body,  as  I  said  before,  having  long- 
ingly fluttered  about  it  for  a  long  time,  and  about  its  visible 
place  [the  tomb],  after  vehement  resistance  and  great  suf- 
fering, is  forcibly  and  with  great  difliculty  led  away  by  its 
appointed  demon.  And  when  it  arrives  at  the  place  where 
the  others  are,  impure  and  having  done  any  such  thing  as 
the  committal  of  unrighteous  murders  or  other  similar 
actions,  which  are  kindred  to  these,  and  are  the  deeds  of 
kindred  souls,  every  one  shuns  it  and  turns  away  from  it, 
and  will  neither  be  its  fellow-traveller  nor  guide,  but  it 
wanders  about,  oppressed  with  every  kind  of  helplessness, 
until  certain  periods  have  elapsed ;  and  when  these  are 
completed,  it  is  carried  of  necessity  to  an  abode  suitable  to 
it ;  but  the  soul  which  has  passed  through  life  with  purity 
and  moderation,  having  obtained  the  gods  for  its  fellow- 
travellers  and  guides,  settles  each  in  the  place  suited  to 
it.  .  .  . 

"But  for  the  sake  of  these  things  which  we  have  de- 
scribed, we  should  use  every  endeavor,  Simmias,  so  as  to 
acquire  virtue  and  wisdom  in  this  life ;  for  the  reward  is 
noble  and  the  hojDC  great.  To  affirm  positively,  indeed, 
that  these  things  are  exactly  as  I  have  described  them, 
does  not  become  a  man  of  sense;  that,  however,  either 
this  or  something  of  the  kind  takes  place  with  respect  to 
our  souls  and  their  habitations — since  our  soul  is  certainly 
immortal — this  appears  to  me  most  fitting  to  be  believed, 
and  worthy  the  hazard  for  one  who  trusts  in  its  reality ; 
for  the  hazard  is  noble,  and  it  is  right  to  allure  ourselves 


Plato]  THE  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES.  67 

with  such  things,  as  with  enchantmentB ;  for  which  reason 
I  have  prolonged  my  story  to  such  a  length.  On  account 
of  these  things,  then,  a  man  ought  to  be  conficlent  about 
his  soul  who  during  this  life  has  discarded  all  the  pleasures 
and  ornaments  of  the  body  as  foreign  from  his  nature,  and 
who,  having  thought  that  they  do  more  harm  than  good, 
has  zealously  applied  himself  to  the  acquirement  of  knowl- 
edge, and  who,  having  adorned  his  soul  not  with  a  foreign 
but  its  own  proper  ornament, — temperance,  justice,  forti- 
tude, freedom,  and  truth, — thus  waits  for  his  passage  to 
Hades,  as  one  who  is  ready  to  depart  whenever  destiny 
shall  summon  him.  You  then,"  he  continued,  "Simmias 
and  Cebes,  and  the  rest,  will  each  of  you  depart  at  some 
future  time  ;  but  now  destiny  summons  me,  as  a  tragic 
writer  would  say,  and  it  is  nearly  time  for  me  to  betake 
myself  to  the  bath ;  for  it  appears  to  me  to  be  better  to 
drink  the  poison  after  I  have  bathed  myself,  and  not  to 
trouble  the  women  with  bathing  my  dead  body." 

When  he  had  thus  spoken,  Crito  said,  "  So  be  it,  Socrates; 
but  what  commands  have  you  to  give  to  these  or  to  me, 
either  respecting  your  childi'en,  or  any  other  matter,  in 
attending  to  which  we  can  most  oblige  you?" 

"  What  I  always  say,  Crito,"  he  replied,  "  nothing  new ; 
that  is,  by  taking  care  of  yourselves  you  will  oblige  both 
me  and  mine  and  yourselves,  whatever  you  do,  though  you 
should  not  now  promise  it ;  but  if  you  neglect  yourselves, 
and  will  not  live  as  it  were  in  the  footsteps  of  Avhat  has 
been  now  and  formerly  said,  even  though  you  should 
promise  much  at  present,  and  that  earnestly,  you  will  do 
no  good  at  all." 

"We  will  endeavor,  then,  so  to  do,"  said  Crito;  "but 
how  shall  we  bury  you  ?" 

"  Just  as  you  please,"  he  said,  "  if  only  you  can  catch 
me,  and  I  do  not  escape  from  you."     And  at  the  same  time 


68  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plato 

smiling  gently  and  looking  round  on  us,  he  said,  "I  cannot 
persuade  Crito,  my  friends,  that  I  am  that  Socrates  who  is 
now  conversing  with  you,  and  who  methodizes  each  part 
of  the  discourse ;  but  he  thinks  that  I  am  he  whom  he  will 
shortly  behold  dead,  and  asks  how  he  should  bury  me.  But 
that  which  I  some  time  since  argued  at  length, — that  when 
I  have  drunk  the  poison  I  shall  no  longer  remain  with  you, 
but  shall  depart  to  some  haj^py  state  of  the  blessed, — this 
I  seem  to  have  urged  to  him  in  vain,  though  I  meant  at  the 
same  time  to  console  both  you  and  myself.  Be  you,  then, 
my  sureties  to  Crito,"  he  said,  "  in  an  obligation  contrary 
to  that  which  he  made  to  the  judges;  for  he  undertook 
that  I  should  remain ;  but  do  you  be  sureties  that  when 
I  die  I  shall  not  remain,  but  shall  depart,  that  Crito  may 
more  easily  bear  it,  and,  when  he  sees  my  body  either 
burnt  or  buried,  may  not  be  afflicted  for  me,  as  if  I  suf- 
fered some  dreadful  thing,  nor  say  at  my  interment  that 
Socrates  is  laid  out,  or  is  carried  out,  or  is  buried.  For  be 
well  assured,"  he  said,  "  most  excellent  Crito,  that  to  speak 
improperly  is  not  only  culpable  as  to  the  thing  itself,  but 
likcAvise  occasions  some  injury  to  our  souls.  You  must 
have  a  good  courage,  then,  and  say  that  you  bury  my 
body,  and  bury  it  in  such  a  manner  as  is  pleasing  to  you, 
and  as  you  think  is  most  agreeable  to  our  laws." 

When  he  had  said  this  he  rose,  and  went  into  a  chamber 
to  bathe,  and  Crito  followed  him,  but  he  directed  us  to 
wait  for  him.  We  waited,  therefore,  conversing  among 
ourselves  about  what  had  been  said,  and  considering  it 
again,  and  sometimes  speaking  about  our  calamity,  how 
severe  it  would  be  to  us,  sincerely  thinking  that,  like  those 
who  are  deprived  of  a  father,  we  should  pass  the  rest  of 
our  life  as  orphans.  When  he  had  bathed,  and  his  children 
were  brought  to  him — for  he  had  two  little  sons  and  one 
grown  up — and  the  women  belonging  to  his  family  were 


Plato]  THE   DEATH  OF  SOCRATES.  69 

come,  having  conversed  with  them  in  the  presence  of  Crito, 
and  given  them  such  injunctions  as  he  wished,  he  directed 
the  women  and  children  to  go  away,  and  then  returned  to 
118.  And  it  was  now  near  sunset ;  for  he  spent  a  consid- 
erable time  within.  But  when  he  came  from  bathing  he 
sat  down,  and  did  not  speak  much  afterwards. 

Then  the  officer  of  the  Eleven  came  in,  and,  standing 
near  him,  said,  "  Socrates,  I  shall  not  have  to  find  that  fault 
with  you  that  I  do  with  others,  that  they  are  angry  with 
me,  and  curse  me,  when,  by  order  of  the  archons,  I  bid 
them  drink  the  poison.  But  you,  on  all  other  occasions 
during  the  time  you  have  been  here,  I  have  found  to  be 
the  most  noble,  meek,  and  excellent  man  of  all  that  ever 
came  into  this  place ;  and  therefore  I  am  now  well  con- 
vinced that  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me,  for  you  know 
who  are  to  blame,  but  with  them.  Now,  then, — for  you 
know  what  I  came  to  announce  to  you, — farewell,  and 
endeavor  to  bear  what  is  inevitable  as  easily  as  possible." 
And  at  the  same  time,  bursting  into  tears,  he  turned  away, 
and  withdrew. 

And  Socrates,  looking  after  him,  said,  "And  thou,  too, 
farewell;  we  will  do  as  you  direct."  At  the  same  time 
turning  to  us,  he  said,  "  How  courteous  this  man  is!  during 
the  whole  time  I  have  been  here  he  has  visited  me,  and 
conversed  with  me  sometimes,  and  proved  the  worthiest 
of  men ;  and  now,  how  generously  he  weeps  for  me !  But 
come,  Crito,  let  us  obey  him,  and  let  some  one  bring  the 
poison,  if  it  is  ready  pounded,  but  if  not,  let  the  man 
pound  it." 

Then  Crito  said,  "  But  I  think,  Socrates,  the  sun  is  still 
on  the  mountains,  and  has  not  yet  set.  Besides,  I  know 
that  others  have  drunk  the  poison  very  late  after  it  had 
been  announced  to  them,  and  have  supj)ed  and  drunk  freely. 
.  .  .  Do  not  hasten,  then,  for  there  is  yet  time." 


70  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plato 

Upon  this  Socrates  replied,  "  These  men  whom  you  men- 
tion, Crito,  do  these  things  with  good  reason,  for  they 
think  they  shall  gain  by  so  doing.;  and  I  too  with  good 
reason  shall  not  do  so,  for  I  think  I  shall  gain  nothing  by 
drinking  a  little  later,  except  to  become  ridiculous  to  my- 
self, in  being  so  fond  of  life,  and  sparing  of  it  when  none 
any  longer  remains.  Go,  then,"  he  said,  "  obey,  and  do 
not  resist." 

Crito,  having  heard  this,  nodded  to  the  boy  that  stood 
near.  And  the  boy,  having  gone  out  and  stayed  some 
time,  came,  bringing  with  him  the  man  that  was  to  admin- 
ister the  poison,  who  brought  it  ready  pounded  in  a  cup. 
And  Socrates,  on  seeing  the  man,  said,  "Well,  my  good 
friend,  as  you  are  skilled  in  these  matters,  what  must  I 
do?"  "]^othing  else,"  he  replied,  "than  when  you  have 
drunk  it  to  walk  about  until  there  is  a  heaviness  in  your 
legs,  then  lie  down ;  thus  it  will  do  its  purpose."  And  at 
the  same  time  he  held  out  the  cup  to  Socrates.  And  he, 
having  received  it  very  cheerfully,  neither  trembling,  nor 
changing  at  all  in  color  or  countenance,  but,  as  he  was 
wont,  looking  steadfastly  at  the  man,  said,  "  What  say  you 
of  this  potion,  with  respect  to  making  a  libation  to  any 
one?  Is  it  lawful  or  not?"  "We  only  pound  so  much, 
Socrates,"  he  said,  "  as  we  think  sufficient  to  drink."  "  I 
understand  you,"  he  said ;  "  but  it  is  certainly  both  lawful 
and  right  to  i)ray  to  the  gods  that  my  dej)arture  hence 
thither  may  be  happy ;  which  therefore  I  pray,  and  so  may 
it  be."  And  as  he  said  this  he  drank  it  off  readily  and 
calmly. 

Thus  far  most  of  us  were  with  difficulty  able  to  restrain 
ourselves  from  weej^ing ;  but  when  we  saw  him  drinking, 
and  having  finished  the  draught,  we  could  do  so  no  longer ; 
but  in  sjiite  of  myself  the  tears  came  in  full  tori'ent,  so 
that,  covering  my  face,  I  wept  for  myself;  for  I  did  not 


Plato]  THE  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES.  71 

■weep  for  him,  but  for  my  own  fortune,  in  being  deprived 
of  such  a  friend.  But  Crito,  even  before  me,  when  ho 
could  not  restrain  his  tears,  had  risen  up.  But  Apollo- 
dorus  even  before  this  had  not  ceased  weeping,  and  then, 
bursting  into  an  agony  of  grief,  weeping  and  lamenting,  he 
pierced  the  heart  of  every  one  present,  except  Socrates 
himself.  But  he  said,  "What  are  you  doing,  my  admirable 
friend?  I  indeed  for  this  reason,  chiefly,  sent  aAvay  the 
women,  that  they  might  not  commit  any  folly  of  this  kind. 
For  I  have  heard  that  it  is  right  to  die  with  good  omens. 
Be  quiet,  therefore,  and  bear  up." 

When  we  heard  this  we  were  ashamed,  and  restrained 
our  tears.  But  he,  having  walked  about,  when  he  said 
that  his  legs  were  gi'owing  heav}^,  lay  down  on  his  back ; 
for  the  man  so  directed  him.  And  at  the  same  time  he 
who  gave  him  the  poison,  taking  hold  of  him,  after  a  short 
interval  examined  his  feet  and  legs,  and  then,  having 
pressed  his  foot  hard,  asked  him  if  he  felt  it.  He  said  that 
he  did  not.  And  after  this  he  pressed  his  thighs ;  and 
thus  going  higher,  he  showed  us  that  he  was  growing  cold 
and  stiff.  Then  Socrates  touched  himself,  and  said  that 
when  the  poison  reached  his  heart  he  should  then  depart. 
But  now  the  parts  around  the  lower  belly  were  almost  cold ; 
when,  uncovering  himself,  for  he  had  been  covered  over, 
he  said,  and  they  were  his  last  words,  "  Crito,  we  owe  a 
cock  to  JEsculapius ;  pay  it,  therefore,  and  do  not  neglect 
it."  "  It  shall  be  done,"  said  Crito  ;  "  but  consider  whether 
you  have  anything  else  to  say."  To  this  question  he  gave 
no  reply ;  but  shortly  after  he  gave  a  convulsive  movement, 
and  the  man  covered  him,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed ;  and 
Crito,  perceiving  it,  closed  his  mouth  and  eyes.  This, 
Echecrates,  was  the  end  of  our  friend, — a  man,  as  we  may 
say,  the  best  of  all  his  time  that  we  have  known,  and, 
moreover,  the  most  wise  and  just. 


72  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [BiON 


THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS. 

BION. 

[Sicily  had  the  honor  of  producing  three  of  the  most  charming  poets 
of  Greece, — Theocritus,  the  inventor  of  tlie  bucolic  idyl,  Bion,  a  writer 
of  less  scope,  but  very  graceful  and  artistic,  and  Moschus,  whose  elegy 
upon  Bion  is  one  of  the  loveliest  flowers  of  the  Grecian  muse.  Bion's 
lament  for  Adonis  happily  has  been  preserved  complete.  "We  append 
this  passion-laden  poem,  in  Edwin  Arnold's  graceful  rendering.] 

Woe  is  me  for  Adonis !  gone  dead  is  the  comely  Adonis ! 
Dead  is  the  godlike  Adonis!    the   young  Loves  wail   for 

him,  ai !  ai ! 
Sleep  no  more,  wrapped  in  thy  mantles  of  Tyrian,  lady  of 

Cyprus ! 
Else,  don  thy  raiment  of  azure,  pale  mourner,  and  beat  on 

thy  bosom ! 
Tell  out  thy  sorrow  to  all — he  is  dead,  thy  darling  Adonis. 

Ai !  ai !  wail  for  Adonis ! — the  young  Loves  wail  for  him, 
ai !  ai ! 

Hui't  on  the  hill  lies  Adonis  the  beautiful ;  torn  with  the 
boar's  tusk, 

Torn  on  the  ivory  thigh  with  the  ivory  tusk,  his  low 
gasping 

Anguishes  Cypris's  soul :  the  dark  blood  trickles  in  rivers 

Down  from  his  snowy  side — his  eyes  are  dreamily  dim- 
ming 

Under  their  lids ;  and  the  rose  leaves  his  lip,  and  the  kisses 
upon  it 

Fade,  and  wax  fainter,  and  faintest,  and  die,  before  Cypria 
can  snatch  them ; 


BiON]  THE  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS.  73 

Dear  to  the  goddess  his  kiss,  though  it  be  not  the  kiss  of 

the  living ; 
Dear — but  Adonis  wists  none  of  the  mouth  that  kissed  him 

a-dying. 

Ai!   ail   wail  for  Adonis! — Ai!    ai!   say  the    Loves   for 

Adonis. 
Cruel!   ah,  cruel  the  wound  on  the  thigh  of  the  hunter 

Adonis, 
Yet  in  her  innermost  heart  a  deeper  wears  Queen  Cyth- 

ersea. 
Eound  the  fair  dead  boy  his  hounds  pace,  dismally  howling ; 
Eound   him   the    hill-spirits    weep;    but    chiefest    of   all 

Aphrodite, 
Letting  her  bright  hair  loose,  goes  wild  through  the  depths 

of  the  forest 
Passionate,  panting,  unkempt,  with  feet  unsandalled  whose 

beauty 
Thorn-bushes  tear  as  she  passes,  and  drip  with  the  blood 

of  the  goddess. 
Bitterly,  bitterly  wailing,  down  all  the  long  hollows  she 

hurries, 
Calling   him   Husband   and  Love — her   Boy — her   Syrian 

hunter. 
Meantime   dead   in  his  gore   lieth   he — from   groin   unto 

shoulder 
Bloody ;  from  breast  to  thigh ;   the  fair  young  flank  of 

Adonis, 
Heretofore  white  as  the  snow,  dull  now,  and  dabbled  with 

purple. 

Ai!  ai!  woe  for  Adonis!  the  Loves  say,  "Woe  for  Adonis!" 
That  which  hath  killed  her  sweet  lover  hath  killed  a  grace 
which  was  godlike ! 

I.— D  7 


74  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [BioN 

Perfect  the  grace  seemed  of  Cypris  so  long  as  Adonis  was 
living ; 

Gone  is  her  beauty  now — ai !  ai !  gone  dead  with  Adonis  : 

All  the  hills  echo  it — all  the  oaks  whisj^er  it,  "  Ah  for 
Adonis!" 

Even  the  river-waves  ripple  the  sorrows  of  sad  Aphrodite, 

Even  the  spi-ings  on  the  hills  droj)  tears  for  the  hunter 
Adonis ; 

Yes,  and  the  rose-leaves  are  redder  for  grief, — for  the  grief 
Cytheraea 

Tells  in  the  hollow  dells,  and  utters  to  townland  and  wood- 
land. 

Ai!  ai!  Lady  of  Cyprus,  "Lo!  dead  is  my  darling  Adonis!" 
Echo  answers  thee  back,  "  Oh  !  dead  is  thy  darling  Adonis." 
Who,  good  sooth,  but  would  say,  Ai !  ai !  for  her  passit)nate 

story  ? 
When  that  she  saw  and  knew  the  wound  of  Adonis, — the 

death-wound, — 
Saw  the  blood  come  red  from  the  gash,  and  the  white  thigh 

a-waning, 
Wide  outraught  she  her  arms,  and  cried,  "  Ah !  stay,  my 

Adonis ! 
Stay  for  me,  ill-starred  love ! — stay !  stay !  till  I  take  th6e 

the  last  time, 
Hold  thee  and  fold  thee,  and  Iij)3  meet  lips,  and  mingle 

together. 
Eouse  thee — a  little,  Adonis  I     Kiss  back  for  the  last  time, 

beloved ! 
Kiss  me — kiss  me — only  so  long  as  the  life  of  a  kiss  is ! 
So  I  may  suck  from  thy  soul  to  my  mouth,  to  my  inner- 
most heart-beat, 
All  the  breath  of  thy  life,  and  take  the  last  of  its  love-spell 
Unto  the  uttermost  drop — one  kiss !  I  will  tenderly  keep  it 


Bion]  the  lament  for  ADONIS.  75 

As    I    did   thee,  my   Adonis,  sith   thou   dost    leave    me, 

Adonis ! 
For  thou  dost  go  and  for  long — thou  goest  to  the  region  of 

shadows,  « 

Unto  a  hateful  and  pitiless  Power,  and  I,  the  unhapi)y. 
Live !  and,  alack !  am  a  goddess,  and  cannot  die  and  go 

after ; 
Take  thou  my  spouse,  dark  Queen,  have  here  my  husband, 

as  thou  art 
Stronger  by  far  than  I,  and  to  thee  goeth  all  that  is  goodly. 
Utterly  hapless  my  fate,  and  utterly  hopeless  my  grief  is, 
Weeping  my  love  who  is  dead,  and  hating  the  Fate  that 

hath  slain  him. 
Fled  is  my  joy,  like  a  dream ;  thou  art  dead,  thrice  lovely 

and  longed-for ! 
Queen  Cythera^a  is  widowed — the  Loves  in  my  bowers  are 

idle— 
Gone  my  charmed  girdle  with  thee ;  why,  rash  one,  went'st 

thou  a-hunting  ? 
Mad  wert  thou,  being  so  fair,  to  match  thee  with  beasts  of 

the  forest." 
So  grieved  the  Lady  of  Cyprus— the  young  Loves  wept 

for  her  sorrow, 
Saying,  "  Ai  I    ai !    Cytheraea !   gone   dead   is   her   darling 

Adonis." 
Drop  by  drop  as  the  hunter  bleeds,  the  tears  of  the  goddess 
Fall  and  blend  with  the  blood,  and  both  on  the  ground 

become  flowers  ; 
Rose-blossoms  grow  from  the  blood,  and  wind-lilies  out  of 

the  tear-drops. 

Ai !  ai !  comely  Adonis — gone  dead  is  the  godlike  Adonis ; 
Wander  no  longer  bewailing  in  glade  and  in  thicket,  sad 
lady! 


76  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [BioN 

Fair  is  his  bed  of  leaves,  and  fragrant  the  couch  where  the 
dead  lies, 

Dead,  but  as  lovely  as  life, — yea,  dead,  but  as  lovely  as 
sleep  is ; 

Lap  him  in  mantles  of  silken, — such  robes  as  he  once  took 
delight  in 

When  by  thy  side  he  passed  in  caresses  the  season  of  star- 
beams, 

Lulled  on  a  couch  of  gold — though  dead,  the  raiments 
become  him ; 

Heap  on  him  garlands  and  blossoms  and  buds,  entomb  them 
together ; 

When  that  Adonis  died,  the  flowers  died  too,  and  were 
"withered! 

Eain  on  him  perfumes  and  odors,  shed  myrrh  and  spices 
upon  him ; 

Let  all  delightful  things  die  and  go  with  him,  for  dead  is 
the  dearest. 

So  lies  he  lovely,  in  death-shroud  of  purple,  the  fair  young 
Adonis ; 

Hound  about  his  couch  the  Loves  go  piteously  wailing. 

Tearing  their  hair  for  Adonis ;  and  one  has  charge  of  his 
arrows. 

One  of  his  polished  bow,  and  one  of  his  well-feathered  quiver; 

One  unclasps  his  sandals,  and  one  in  a  water-pot  golden 

Brings  bright  water  to  lave  his  limbs,  and  one  at  the  bier- 
head 

Fans  with  her  pinions  the  forehead  and  eyes  of  the  sleep- 
ing Adonis. 

Ah !  but  for  Cypris  herself  the  young  Loves  sorrow  the 

sorest ; 
Quenched  are  the  marriage-lamps  in  the  halls  of  the  god 

Hymen  sens, 


LoNGiNus]  ELEVATION  OF  THOUGHT.  77 

Scattered  his  marriage-crowns;  no  more  he  sings,  "Hymen, 
O  Hymen !" 

"Hymen!"  no  more  is  the  song  he  goes  singing,  but  ever- 
more ai !  ai ! 

"Ah  for  Adonis!"  he  cries,  and  "Ah!"  say  the  Graces, 
"Adonis!" 

More  than  the  marriage-god,  even,  they  weep  for  the 
Syrian  huntsman. 

One  to  the  other  still  saying,  "  Dead — dead  is  the  lovely 
Adonis!" 

All  the  nine  Muses  bewail — but  he  hears  no  more  music 
and  singing, 

Nay,  not  if  that  he  would :  Fate  holds  him  fast  and  for- 
ever. 

Cease,  Cytheraea,  thy  sobs ;  a  little  while  rest  from  thine 

anguish, 
Soon  must  thy  tears  flow  again,  and  again  comes  the  season 

of  sorroAv. 


ELEVATION  OF  THOUGHT. 

LONGINUS. 

[Dionysius  Cassius  Longinus,  the  latest,  though  by  no  means  the 
least,  of  the  classic  Greek  authors,  is  supposed  to  have  been  born  at 
Emesa,  in  Syria,  or  possibly  at  Athens,  about  213  a.d.  He  was 
thoroughly  learned  in  Greek  literature,  and  gained  great  reputation  as 
a  teacher  of  rhetoric  at  Athens,  becoming  famous  also  as  a  Platonic 
philosopher.  At  a  later  period  of  life  he  visited  Asia,  and  became  the 
instructor  in  Greek  literature  of  Zenobia,  who  afterwards  was  queen 
of  Palmyra.  Longinus  remained  with  her  as  prime  minister,  and,  in- 
spired by  his  love  of  liberty,  induced  her  to  rebel  against  Rome.  As  a 
result  the  city  was  captured,  and  Longinus,  accused  by  the  queen  her- 
I.  7* 


78  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Longtntis 

self  of  being  her  adviser  in  the  revolt,  was  beheaded  by  order  of  the 
emperor  Aurelian,  273  a.d. 

The  learning  of  Longinus  was  extraordinarily  great,  while  his  taste 
and  critical  acuteness  were  of  the  highest  order,  he  being  probably  the 
best  literary  critic  of  all  antiquity.  In  these  respects  he  was  far  in 
advance  of  all  his  contemporaries,  in  whose  hands  Greek  literature  had 
sunk  to  a  very  low  ebb.  In  style  he  was  clear,  lofty,  and  rational, 
while  in  oratorical  power  he  was  surpassed  only  by  the  great  masters 
of  Greek  oratory.  Of  his  many  works  but  a  portion  of  one  exists, 
a  treatise  "On  the  Sublime."  There  is  scarcely  any  other  work  in 
existence  containing  so  many  excellent  remarks  on  oratory,  poetry, 
and  good  taste  in  general,  or  equalling  it  in  sound  judgment,  liveliness 
of  style,  felicity  of  illustration,  and  general  good  sense.  "We  select, 
from  Smith's  translation  of  this  work,  one  of  its  most  striking  passages.] 

Though  elevation  of  thought  be  rather  a  natural  than 
an  acquired  qualification,  yet  we  ough£  to  spare  no  pains 
to  educate  our  souls  to  grandeur  and  impregnate  them 
with  generous  and  enlarged  ideas.  "  But  how,"  it  will  be 
asked,  "  can  this  be  done  ?"  Why,  I  have  hinted  in  another 
place  that  the  Sublime  is  an  image  reflected  from  the 
inward  greatness  of  the  soul.  Hence  it  comes  to  pass  that 
a  naked  thought  without  words  challenges  admiration  and 
strikes  by  its  grandeur.  Such  is  the  silence  of  Ajax  in  the 
Odyssey,  which  is  undoubtedly  noble,  and  far  above  ex- 
pression. 

To  arrive  at  excellence  like  this,  we  must  needs  suppose 
that  which  is  the  cause  of  it ;  I  mean,  that  an  orator  of 
the  true  genius  must  have  no  mean  and  ungenerous  way 
of  thinking.  For  it  is  impossible  for  those  who  have 
grovelling  and  servile  ideas,  or  are  engaged  in  the  sordid 
pursuits  of  life,  to  produce  anything  worthy  of  admiration 
and  the  perusal  of  all  posterity.  Grand  and  sublime  ex- 
pressions must  flow  from  them,  and  them  alone,  whose 
conceptions  are  stored  and  big  with  greatness.  And  hence 
it  is  that  the  greatest  thoughts  are  always  uttered  by  the 


LoNoiNUs]  ELEVATION  OF   THOUGHT.  79 

greatest  souls.  When  Parmenio  cried,  "  I  would  accept 
these  proposals,  if  I  were  Alexander,"  Alexander  made 
this  noble  reply,  "And  so  would  I,  if  I  Avere  Parmenio." 
His  answer  showed  the  greatness  of  his  mind. 

So  the  space  between  heaven  and  earth  marks  out  the 
vast  reach  and  capacity  of  Homer's  ideas,  when  he  says, — 

"  While  scarce  the  skies  her  horrid  head  can  bound. 
She  stalks  on  earth," 

This  description  may  with  more  justice  be  applied  to 
Homer's  genius  than  to  the  extent  of  discord. 

But  what  disparity,  what  a  fall  is  there  in  Hesiod's  de- 
scription of  melancholy,  if  the  poem  of  the  Shield  may  be 
ascribed  to  him ! 

"  A  filthy  moisture  from  her  nostrils  flowed." 

He  has  not  represented  his  image  terrible,  but  loathsome 
and  nauseous. 

On  the  other  hand,  with  what  majesty  and  pomp  does 
Homer  exalt  his  deities ! 

"  Far  as  a  shepherd  from  some  point  on  high 
O'er  the  wide  main  extends  his  boundless  eye, 
Through  such  a  space  of  air,  with  thund'ring  sound, 
At  one  long  leap  th'  immortal  coursers  bound." 

He  measures  the  leap  of  the  horses  by  the  extent  of  the 
world.  And  who  is  there  that,  considering  the  superlative 
magnificence  of  this  thought,  would  not  with  good  reason 
cry  out,  that  "  if  the  steeds  of  the  Deity  were  to  take  a 
second  leap,  the  world  itself  would  want  room  for  it !' 

How  grand  also  and  pompous  are  those  descriptions  of 
the  combats  of  the  cods ! 


,'-. 


"  Heaven  in  loud  thunders  bids  the  tnnnpet  sound, 
And  wide  beneath  them  groans  the  rending  ground. 


80  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Longinus 

Deep  in  the  dismal  regions  of  the  dead 

Th'  infernal  monarch  reared  his  horrid  head, 

Leaped  from  his  throne,  lest  Neptune's  arm  should  lay 

His  dark  dominions  open  to  the  day 

And  pour  in  light  on  Pluto's  dread  abodes. 

Abhorred  by  men,  and  dreadful  ev'n  to  gods." 

What  a  prospect  is  here,  my  friend !  The  earth  laid  open 
to  its  centre ;  Tartarus  itself  disclosed  to  view ;  the  whole 
world  in  commotion,  and  tottering  on  its  basis  !  and,  what 
is  more,  heaven  and  hell,  things  mortal  and  immortal,  all 
combating  together,  and  sharing  the  danger  of  this  impor- 
tant battle  1  But  yet  these  bold  illustrations,  if  not  alle- 
gorically  understood,  are  downright  blasphemy,  and  ex- 
travagantly shocking.  For  Homer,  in  my  opinion,  when 
he  gives  us  a  detail  of  the  wounds,  the  seditions,  the  pun- 
ishments, imprisonments,  tears  of  the  deities,  with  those 
evils  of  every  kind  under  which  they  languish,  has  to  the 
utmost  of  his  power  exalted  his  heroes,  who  fought  at 
Troy,  into  gods,  and  degraded  his  gods  into  men.  Nay, 
he  makes  their  condition  worse  than  human ;  for  when 
man  is  overwhelmed  in  misfortunes,  death  affords  a  com- 
fortable port,  and  rescues  him  from  misery.  But  he  rep- 
resents the  infelicity  of  the  gods  as  everlasting  as  their 
nature. 

And  how  for  does  he  excel  those  descriptions  of  the 
combats  of  the  gods,  when  he  sets  a  deity  in  his  true  light, 
and  paints  him  in  all  his  majesty,  grandeur,  and  perfection ; 
as  in  that  description  of  ^N'eptune,  which  has  been  already 
a2:)plauded  by  several  writers : 

"  Fierce  as  he  passed  the  lofty  mountains  nod, 
The  forests  shake,  earth  trembled  as  he  trod, 
And  felt  the  footsteps  of  th'  immortal  god. 
His  whirling  wheels  the  glassy  surface  sweep  ; 
Th'  enormous  monsters  rolling  o'er  the  deep 


LoNGiNTJs]  ELEVATION  OF  THOUGHT.  81 

Gambol  around  him  on  the  watery  way, 
And  heavy  whales  in  awkward  measures  play  ; 
The  sea  subsiding  spreads  a  level  plain, 
Exalts  and  owns  the  monarch  of  the  main  : 
The  parting  waves  before  his  coursers  fly  ; 
The  wond'ring  waters  leave  the  axles  dry." 

So  likewise  the  JeAvish  legislator,  no  ordinary  person, 
having  conceived  a  just  idea  of  the  power  of  God,  has 
nobly  expressed  it  in  the  beginning  of  his  Law  :  "  And  Grod 
said — What? — Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light. 
Let  the  earth  be,  and  the  earth  was." 

I  hope  my  friend  will  not  think  me  tedious,  if  I  add 
another  quotation  from  the  poet,  in  regard  to  his  mortals, 
that  you  may  see  how  he  accustoms  us  to  mount  along 
with  him  to  heroic  grandeur.  A  thick  and  impenetrable 
cloud  of  darkness  had  on  a  sudden  enveloped  the  Grecian 
army,  and  suspended  the  battle.  Ajax,  perplexed  vs^hat 
course  to  take,  j)rays  thus : 

"  Accept  a  warrior's  prayer,  eternal  Jove  ; 
This  cloud  of  darkness  from  the  Greeks  remove ; 
Give  us  but  light,  and  let  us  see  our  foes, 
We'll  bravely  fall,  though  Jove  himself  oppose." 

The  sentiments  of  Ajax  are  here  pathetically  expressed  : 
it  is  Ajax  himself.  He  begs  not  for  life ;  a  request  like 
that  would  be  beneath  a  hero.  But  because  in  that  dark- 
ness he  could  display  his  valor  in  no  illustrious  exploit,  and 
his  great  heart  was  unable  to  brook  a  sluggish  inactivity 
in  the  field  of  action,  he  only  prays  for  light,  not  doubting 
to  crown  his  fall  with  some  notable  performance,  though 
Jove  himself  should  oppose  his  efforts.  Here  Homer,  like 
a  brisk  and  favorable  gale,  renews  and  swells  the  fury  of 
the  battle ;  he  is  as  warm  and  impetuous  as  his  heroes  are, 
or  (as  he  says  of  Hector) 
I-—/" 


82  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Longinus 


"  With  what  a  furious  rage  his  steps  advance, 
As  when  the  god  of  battles  shakes  his  lance, 
Or  baleful  flames  on  some  thick  forest  cast, 
Swift  marching,  lay  the  wooded  mountain  waste : 
Around  his  mouth  a  foamy  moisture  stands." — Pope. 

[To  the  above  may  be  added  the  following  short  but  highly  eloquent 
extract.] 

"With  regard,  therefoi*e,  to  those  sublime  writers,  whose 
flight,  however  exalted,  never  fails  of  its  use  and  advantage, 
we  must  add  another  consideration.  Those,  their  inferior 
beauties,  show  their  authors  to  be  men,  but  the  sublime 
makes  near  approaches  to  the  height  of  God.  What  is 
correct  and  virtuous  comes  off  barely  without  censure,  but 
the  grand  and  the  elevated  command  admiration.  What 
can  I  add  further?  One  exalted  and  su.blime  sentiment  in 
these  noble  authors  makes  amj)le  amends  for  all  their  de- 
fects. And,  what  is  most  remarkable,  were  the  errors  of 
Homer,  Demosthenes,  Plato,  and  the  rest  of  the  most  cele- 
brated authors  to  be  culled  carefully  out  and  thrown 
together,  they  would  not  bear  the  least  proportion  to  those 
infinite,  those  inimitable  excellences  which  are  so  conspic- 
uous in  these  heroes  of  antiquity. 

And  for  this  reason  has  every  age  and  every  generation, 
unmoved  by  partiality  and  unbiassed  by  envy,  awarded  the 
laurels  to  those  great  masters,  which  flourish  still  green  and 
unfading  on  their  brows,  and  will  flourish 

"  As  long  as  streams  in  silver  mazes  rove. 
Or  Spring  with  annual  green  renews  the  grove." 


Plautus]  the  pot  of  GOLD.  83 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD. 

PLAUTUS. 

[T.  Maccius  Plautus,  the  greatest  comic  poet  of  Kome,  was  born  at 
Sarsina,  a  village  of  Umbria,  about  254  B.C.  After  being  employed  in 
some  capacity  at  the  theatres,  he  offered  three  plays  of  his  own  com- 
position, which  met  with  sufficient  success  to  determine  his  future  couree 
of  life.  Of  the  twenty-one  plays  which  at  the  beginning  of  the  Koman 
empire  were  believed  to  be  his,  we  fortunately  possess  twenty,  though 
with  very  defective  and  cornipt  text.  These  plays  are  adaptations  of 
the  later  Greek  comedies,  particularly  of  those  of  Menander,  though 
the  characters  are  Koman  and  the  plots  doubtless  considerably  changed. 
They  are  marked  by  broad  humor  and  unrefined  taste,  by  a  skilful 
construction  of  plot,  and  by  rapid  and  incessant  action.  Unexpected 
situations  are  constantly  developed,  and  the  scenes  teem  with  life, 
bustle,  and  surprise,  while  their  sprightly  and  sparkling  raillery  must 
have  kept  their  audiences  in  a  fever  of  enjoyment.  Few  modern  dramas 
equal  the  plays  of  Plautus  in  rapidity  and  vivacity,  though  modern 
dramatists  have  frequently  made  use  of  his  plots.  He  was  exceedingly 
popular  with  the  Komans,  and  his  works  held  possession  of  the  stage  till 
a  late  period  in  the  empire.  The  selection  we  give  is  from  Thornton's 
translation  of  the  "  Aulularia,"  or  The  Miser,  a  very  amusing  play,  in 
which  a  miser  discovers  a  pot  of  gold,  which  he  hides  with  the  greatest 
care,  but  is  in  constant  apprehension  lest  it  shall  be  discovered.  It  is 
found  by  a  slave,  named  Strobilus,  who  gives  it  to  his  young  master, 
the  lover  of  the  miser's  daughter.] 

ACT  IV.— Scene  I. 

Entei'  Strobilus. 

'Tis  a  good  servant's  duty  to  behave 
As  I  do — to  obey  his  master's  orders 
Without  delay  or  grumbling ;  for  whoever 
Seeks  to  demean  him  to  his  master's  liking 
Ought  to  be  quick  iu  what  concerns  his  master, 


84  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plautus 

And  slow  to  serve  himself:  bis  very  dreams, 
When  sleeping,  should  remind  him  what  he  is. 
If  any  serve  a  master  that's  in  love 
(As  I  do,  for  example),  and  he  find 
His  passion  has  subdued  him,  'tis  his  duty 
To  keep  him  back,  restrain  him  for  his  good, 
Not  push  him  forward,  where  his  inclinations 
Hurry  him  on.     As  boys  that  learn  to  swim 
Eest  on  a  kind  of  raft  composed  of  rushes. 
That  they  may  labor  less,  and  move  their  hands, 
And  swim  more  easily ;  so  should  a  servant 
Buoy  up  his  master,  that  is  plunged  in  love. 
From  sinking  like  a  plummet. — Such  a  one 
Will  read  his  master's  pleasure  in  his  looks, 
And  what  he  orders  haste  to  execute 
As  quick  as  lightning.     Whatsoever  servant 
Acts  in  this  wise  will  never  feel  the  lash, 
l!^or  make  his  fetters  bright  by  constant  wear. 
My  master  is  enamoured  with  the  daughter 
Of  this  poor  fellow  Euclio,  and  has  learned 
She's  to  be  married  to  our  Megadorus. 
He  therefore  sent  me  hither  as  a  spy, 
To  inform  him  of  what  passes. — I  may  seat  me 
Close  by  this  altar  here  without  suspicion, 
Whence  I  can  learn  what's  doing  on  all  sides. 

[_Sits  down  by  an  altar. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Euclio  fro-in  the  temj^le  of  Faith. 

Good  Faith,  discover  not  to  any  one 

That  here  my  gold  is  placed :  I  have  no  fear 

That  any  one  will  find  it,  it  is  lodged 

So  privily. — On  my  troth,  if  any  one 

Should  find  this  pot  crammed  full  of  gold,  he'd  have 


Platttus]  the  pot  OF  GOLD.  85 

A  charming  booty  on't  j  but  I  beseech  you 

Prevent  it,  Faith !  lExit. 

Scene  III. 
Strobilus,  from  his  lurking-place. 
What  did  1  hear  him  say  ? — Immortal  gods ! 
That  he  had  hid  a  pot,  brimful  of  gold. 
Here  in  this  temple  ? — I  beseech  you,  Faith, 
Be  not  to  him  more  faithful  than  to  me. 
This  is  the  father,  if  I  don't  mistake, 
Of  her  my  master  is  enamoured  with. 
I'll  in,  and  rummage  the  whole  temple  o'er 
To  find  this  treasure,  now  that  he's  employed. 
If  I  do  find  it,  Faith,  I'll  offer  you 
A  gallon  full  of  wine,  and  faithful  measure 
I'll  offer;  but  I'll  drink  it  all  myself 

[  Goes  to  the  temple  of  Faith. 

Scene  IV. 
Etjclio,  returning. 
'Tis  not  for  nothing  that  I  heard  the  raven 
On  my  left  hand ;  and  once  he  scraped  the  ground. 
And  then  he  croaked :  it  made  my  heart  to  jump 
And  flutter  in  my  breast.     Why  don't  I  run? 

[^Enters  the  temple  of  Faith. 

Scene  V. 
Etjclio,  dragging  out  Strobiltjs. 
Out,  earthworm,  out,  who  but  a  moment  past 
Ci'ept  under  ground,  wert  nowhere  to  be  seen ; 
But  now  thou  dost  appear,  'tis  over  with  thee. 
Eascal,  I'll  be  thy  death. 

Stroh.  What  a  plague  ails  you?    What  business  have 
you,  you  old  wretch,  with  me  ?     Why  do  you  lug  me  so  ? 
What  makes  you  beat  me  ? 
I.  8 


86  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plautus 

^t^c.  D'ye  ask?  you  whipping-stock!  you villanous  thief! 
— not  one  alone,  but  all  the  thieves  together ! 

Strob.  What  have  I  stolen  of  yours  ? 

Euc.  Eestore  it  to  me. 

Stroh.  Eestore  it  ?     What  ? 

Euc.  D'ye  ask  ? 

Stroh.  I've  taken  nothing. 

Euc.  Come,  give  me  what  you've  got. 

Stroh.  What  are  you  at  ? 

Euc.  AVhat  am  I  at  ? — You  shall  not  carry  it  off. 

Stroh.  What  is  it  you  would  have  ? 

Euc.  Come,  lay  it  down. 

Stroh.  Why,  we  have  laid  no  wager,  that  I  know  of. 

Euc.  Come,  come,  no  joking ;  lay  it  down,  I  say. 

Stroh.  What  must  I  lay  down  ?  tell  me,  name  it  me ;  I 
have  not  touched  nor  taken  anything. 

Euc.  Show  me  your  hands. 

Stroh.  Here  they  are. 

Euc.  Show  them  me. 

Stroh.  Why,  here  they  are. 

Euc.  I  see.     Show  me  your  third  hand. 

Stroh.  (aside).  Sure  the  old  fellow's  crazy;  he's  bewitched. 
Prithee,  now  don't  you  use  me  very  ill  ? 

Euc.  Very  ill,  truly,  not  to  have  you  hanged — which  I 
will  do,  if  now  you  don't  confess. 

Stroh.  Don't  confess  what? 

Euc.  What  did  you  take  from  hence  ? 

Stroh.  May  I  be  cursed  if  I  took  anything  belonging  to 
you,  or  desired  it.    I 

Euc.  Come,  come,  pull  off  your  cloak. 

Stroh.  {pulling  it  off).  Just  as  you  please. 

Etic.  You  may  have  hid  it  underneath  your  clothes. 

Stroh.  Search  where  you  will. 

Euc.  (aside).  The  rogue !  how  civil  is  he  that  I  may  not 


Plauttjs]  the  pot  OF  GOLD.  87 

suspect! — I  know  his  tricks.     Once  more,  show  me  your 
right  hand. 

Strob.  Here  it  is. 

Sue.  Well,  now  show  me  your  left. 

Strob.  Here  they  are  both. 

JEuc.  Come — I  will  search  no  further — give  it  me. 

Strob.  What  must  I  give  you  ? 

Euc.  Pshaw!  don't  trifle  with  me.  You  certainly  have 
got  it. 

Strob.  Got  ?     Got  what  ? 

Euc.  So — you  would  have  mo  name  it ; — but  I  will  not. 
Restore  whatever  you  have  got  of  mine. 

Strob.  You're  mad,  sure.  —  You  have  searched  me  at 
your  pleasure,  and  you  have  found  nothing  of  yours  upon 
me. 

Uicc.  Stay,  stay — who  was  that  other  with  you  yonder  ? 
(Aside)  I'm  ruined!  he's  at  work  within;  and  if  I  let  him 
go,  this  other  will  escape.  I've  searched  him,  it  is  true, 
and  he  has  nothing.  ( To  Strob.)  Go  where  you  will,  and 
may  the  gods  confound  you  I 

Strob.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  wishes. 

Euc.  I'll  in,  and  if  I  light  on  your  accomplice  I'll  strangle 
him. — Out  of  my  sight — begone. 

Strob.  I  go. 

Euc.  And  never  let  me  see  you  more. 

[Euclid  goes  into  the  temple. 

Scene  VI. 
Strobiltjs,  alone. 
I'd  rather  die  the  worst  of  deaths,  than  now 
IS'ot  lay  an  ambush  for  this  old  man's  money. 
He  will  not  dare  to  hide  it  here,  I  fancy ; 
But  he  will  bring  it  out  with  him,  and  change 
Its  situation. — Hush,  the  door  is  opening. 


88  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Platjtus 

And  out  he  comes,  the  old  hunks,  with  his  treasure. 
I'll  dniw  a  little  nearer  to  the  gate  here. 

^Skulks  on  one  side. 

Scene  VII. 

EuCLio  returns  with  his  pot  of  money. 

Now,  let  me  see — where  can  I  find  a  place, 

A  lonely  one,  where  I  may  hide  this  treasure? 

(^Meditating.')  There  is  a  grove,  without  the  city  walls, 

That's  sacred  to  Sylvanus,  unfrequented. 

Thick-set  with  willows :  on  that  spot  I'll  fix. 

Sylvanus  will  I  sooner  trust  than  Faith.  [Exit. 

ACT  v.— Scene  I. 

Enter  Strobilits  with  the  pot  of  inoney. 

The  griffins,  dwelling  on  the  golden  mountains, 

Are  not  so  rich  as  I. — Of  other  kings 

I  sjDeak  not,  beggarly,  poor,  abject  fellows — 

I  am  King  Philip's  self. — Fine  day  for  me  ! 

Parting  from  hence,  I  got  there  long  before  him, 

Climbed  up  a  tree,  and  waited  to  observe 

Where  the  old  fellow  would  conceal  his  treasure. 

When  he  was  gone,  down  slid  I  from  the  tree, 

And  dug  his  pot  up  full  of  gold  : — I  then 

Saw  him  come  back  to  the  same  place  again ; 

But  me  he  saw  not,  for  I  turned  a  little 

Out  of  his  way.     Ah  !  here  he  is  himself. 

I'll  go,  and  lay  this  pot  up  safe  at  home.  [Exit. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Euclio. 

I'm  dead !  killed  !  murdered ! — Whither  shall  I  run  ? 
Whither  not  run?— Stop  thief!  stop  thief!— Who?  what? 


Plautus]  the  pot  of  GOLD.  89 

I  know  not — I  see  nothing — I  walk  blind — 
I  cannot  tell  for  certain  where  I'm  going, 
Or  where  I  am,  or  who  I  am. 

(  To  the  spectators.)  Good  people, 
I  pray  you,  I  inij)lore  you,  I  beseech  you, 
Lend  me  your  helj),  show  me  the  man  who  took  it. 
See  !  in  the  garb  of  innocent  white  they  skulk 
And  sit  as  they  were  honest. 

(To  one  of  the  spectators.)  What  say  you? 
I  will  believe  you! — You're  an  honest  fellow — 
I  read  it  in  your  countenance. — How's  this  ? 
What  do  you  laugh  at? — Oh,  I  know  you  all; 
I  know  that  there  are  many  thieves  among  jon. 
Hey ! — none  of  you  have  got  it  ? — I  am  slain ! 
Tell  me,  who  has  it,  then  ? — You  do  not  know ! 
Ah  me !  ah,  woe  is  me !     I'm  lost !     I'm  ruined ! 
Wholly  undone !  in  a  most  vile  condition ! 
Such  grief,  such  groaning,  has  this  day  brought  on  me, 
Hunger  and  poverty ! — I  am  a  wretch, 
The  vilest  wretch  on  earth ! — Oh,  what  have  I 
To  do  with  life,  deprived  of  such  a  treasure, — 
A  treasure  that  I  kept  so  carefully 
And  robbed  myself  of  comfort  ? — Others  now 
Rejoice  through  my  mishap,  and  make  them  merry 
At  my  expense.     Oh !  oh !  I  cannot  bear  it. 

IBujis  about,  crying,  stampmg,  etc. 

[The  conclusion  of  this  play  is  lost.  We  know,  however,  that  Eiiclio 
had  promised  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  an  old  man  named  Mega- 
dorus,  whose  recommendation  was  that  he  asked  for  no  dowry.  It  is 
probable  that  the  young  lover,  on  receiving  the  pot  of  gold,  managed 
to  gain  his  sweetheart  in  exchange  for  it.] 

I.  8* 


90  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.        [Thucydides 


THE  PLAGUE  AT  ATHENS. 

THUCYDIDES. 

[The  author  from  whom  we  now  select,  admittedly  tlie  greatest  of 
ancient  historians,  was  born  in  471  B.C.,  of  a  noble  Athenian  family, 
and  was  instructed  in  all  the  learning  of  the  Greeks.  He  was  possessed 
of  great  wealth,  part  of  his  property  consisting  of  gold-mines  in  Thrace. 
He  took  an  active  part  in  the  destructive  Peloponnesian  war,  whose 
historian  he  afterwards  became,  but  was  exiled  for  failure  in  a  naval 
expedition,  his  exile  continuing  for  more  than  twenty  yeai-s. 

To  his  unjustly-decreed  exile  v/e  probably  owe  his  great  work,  the 
history  of  the  protracted  war  between  the  Athenians  and  the  Spartans, 
which,  after  many  years  of  fighting,  ended  in  the  capture  and  tempo- 
rary vassalage  of  Athens.  In  the  whole  range  of  ancient  literature 
there  is  no  production  that  stands  higher  in  modern  estimation  than 
this  admirable  work.  The  philosophy  of  history  is  born  with  it,  the 
author  inquiring  into  the  motives  of  men,  and  the  hidden  springs  of 
action,  with  a  critical  discernment  equal  to  that  of  our  best  modern 
historians.  The  style  of  Thucydides  is  remarkable  for  its  condensation, 
giving  in  a  few  vivid  expressions  the  facts  which  it  must  have  taken 
weeks  to  collect  and  discriminate  between.  His  narrative  displays 
great  clearness  and  unrivalled  descriptive  power,  while  his  political 
and  moral  observations  show  the  keenest  insight  into  the  secret  causes 
of  human  action.  In  all  the  history  of  the  human  race  there  is  no 
period  more  distinctly  defined  than  the  first  twenty-one  years  of  the 
Peloponnesian  war,  as  given  in  this  great  work  of  Thucydides. 

It  will  be  well,  however,  to  let  the  author  speak  for  himself  in  regard 
to  his  historical  method,  which  differed  essentially  from  that  of  the 
preceding  Ionian  historians,  whom  he  characterizes  as  fabulous  and 
unworthy  of  credence.     He  says, — 

"  Men  do  not  discriminate,  and  are  ready  to  receive  ancient  traditions 
about  their  own  as  well  as  about  other  countries.  Yet  any  one  who 
upon  the  grovmds  which  I  shall  give  arrives  at  some  such  conclusion 
as  my  own  about  those  ancient  times  would  not  be  far  wrong.  He 
must  not  be  misled  by  the  exaggerated  fancies  of  the  poets,  or  by  the 
tales  of  chroniclei-s  who  seek  to  please  the  ear  rather  than  to  speak  the 


TnucYDiDEs]       THE  PLAGUE  AT  ATHENS.  91 

truth.  Their  accounts  cannot  be  tested  by  him  ;  and  most  of  the  facts 
in  the  lapse  of  ages  have  passed  into  the  region  of  romance.  At  such 
a  distance  of  time  he  must  make  up  his  mind  to  be  satisfied  with  con- 
clusions resting  upon  the  clearest  evidence  that  can  be  had.  .  .  . 

'<  Of  the  events  of  the  war  I  have  not  ventured  to  speak  from  any 
chance  infonnatiou,  nor  according  to  any  notion  of  my  own  ;  I  have 
described  nothing  but  what  I  either  saw  myself,  or  learned  from  others 
of  whom  I  made  the  most  careful  and  particular  inquiry.  The  task 
was  a  laborious  one,  because  eye-witnesses  of  the  same  occurrences 
gave  diiferent  accounts  of  them  as  they  remembered  or  were  interested 
in  the  actions  of  one  side  or  the  other.  And  very  likely  the  strictly 
historical  character  of  my  narrative  may  be  disappointing  to  the  ear. 
But  if  he  who  desires  to  have  before  his  eyes  a  true  picture  of  the 
events  which  have  happened,  and  of  the  like  events  which  may  be 
expected  to  happen  hereafter  in  the  order  of  human  things,  shall  pro- 
nounce what  I  have  written  to  be  useful,  then  I  shall  be  satisfied.  My 
history  is  an  everlasting  possession,  not  a  prize  composition  which  is 
heard  and  forgotten." 

We  select  from  this  work,  as  the  subject  of  the  present  Half-Hour, 
the  vivid  description  of  the  plague  that  broke  out  at  Athens  when 
crowded  with  the  fugitive  inhabitants  of  Attica,  and  besieged,  in  the 
midst  of  its  distress,  by  a  powerful  Spartan  army.  The  translation  is 
that  of  Jowett.] 

As  soon  fis  summer  returned  [b.c.  430,  the  second  year 
of  the  war],  the  Peloponnesian  army,  comprising  as  before 
two-thirds  of  the  force  of  each  confederate  State,  under 
the  command  of  the  Lacedsemonian  king  Archidamus,  the 
son  of  Zeuxidamus,  invaded  Attica,  where  they  established 
themselves  and  ravaged  the  country.  They  had  not  been 
there  many  days  when  the  plague  broke  out  at  Athens  for 
the  first  time.  A  similar  disorder  is  said  to  have  previously 
smitten  many  places,  particularly  Lemnos,  but  there  is  no 
record  of  such  a  pestilence  occurring  elsewhere,  or  of  so 
great  a  destruction  of  human  life.  For  a  while  physicians, 
in  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  the  disease,  sought  to  apply 
remedies;  but  it  was  in  vain,  and  they  themselves  were 


92  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.        [Thucydides 

among  the  first  victims,  because  they  oftenest  came  into 
contact  with  it.  No  human  art  was  of  any  avail,  and  as 
to  supj^lications  in  temples,  inquiries  of  oracles,  and  the 
like,  they  were  utterly  useless,  and  at  last  men  were  over- 
powered by  the  calamity  and  gave  them  all  up. 

The  disease  is  said  to  have  begun  south  of  Egypt  in 
^thiojDia ;  thence  it  descended  into  Egypt  and  Libya,  and, 
after  spreading  over  the  greater  part  of  the  Persian  em- 
pire, suddenly  fell  upon  Athens.  It  first  attacked  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Piraeus,  and  it  was  supposed  that  the 
Peloponnesians  had  poisoned  the  cisterns,  no  conduits 
having  as  yet  been  made  there.  It  afterwards  reached 
the  upper  city,  and  then  the  mortality  became  far  greater. 
As  to  its  probable  origin,  or  the  causes  which  might  or 
could  have  produced  such  a  disturbance  of  nature,  every 
man,  whether  a  physician  or  not,  will  give  his  own  opinion. 
But  I  shall  describe  its  actual  course,  and  the  symptoms  by 
which  any  one  who  knows  them  beforehand  may  recognize 
the  disorder  should  it  ever  reappear.  For  I  was  myself 
attacked,  and  witnessed  the  sufferings  of  others. 

The  season  was  admitted  to  have  been  remarkably  free 
from  ordinary  sickness ;  and  if  anybody  was  already  ill 
of  any  other  disease,  it  was  absorbed  in  this.  Many  who 
were  in  perfect  health,  all  in  a  moment,  and  without  any 
apparent  reason,  were  seized  with  violent  heats  in  the  head 
and  with  redness  and  inflammation  of  the  eyes.  Internally 
the  throat  and  tongue  were  quickly  suffused  with  blood, 
and  the  breath  became  unnatural  and  fetid.  There  fol- 
lowed sneezing  and  hoarseness;  in  a  short  time  the  dis- 
order, accompanied  by  a  violent  cough,  reached  the  chest ; 
then,  fastening  lower  down,  it  would  move  the  stomach 
and  bring  on  all  the  vomits  of  bile  to  which  physicians 
have  ever  given  names ;  and  they  were  very  distressing. 
An  ineffectual  retching  producing  violent  convulsions  at- 


Thucydides]        the  plague  AT  ATHENS.  93 

tacked  most  of  the  sufferers ;  some  as  soon  as  the  previous 
symptoms  had  abated,  others  not  until  long  afterwards. 
The  body  externally  was  not  so  very  hot  to  the  touch,  nor 
yet  pale ;  it  was  of  a  livid  color  inclining  to  red,  and  break- 
ing out  in  pustules  and  ulcers.  But  the  internal  fever  was 
intense ;  the  sufferers  could  not  bear  to  have  on  them  even 
the  finest  linen  garment ;  they  insisted  on  being  naked, 
and  there  was  nothing  they  longed  for  more  eagerly  than 
to  throw  themselves  into  cold  water.  And  many  of  those 
who  had  no  one  to  look  after  them  actually  plunged  into 
the  cisterns,  for  they  were  tormented  by  unceasing  thirst, 
which  was  not  in  the  least  assuaged  whether  they  drank 
little  or  much.  They  could  not  sleep  ;  a  restlessness  which 
was  intolerable  never  left  them.  While  the  disease  was  at 
its  height  the  body,  instead  of  w*asting  away,  held  out 
amid  these  sufferings  in  a  marvellous  manner,  and  either 
they  died  on  the  seventh  or  ninth  day,  not  of  weakness, 
for  their  strength  was  not  exhausted,  but  of  internal  fever, 
vrhich  was  the  end  of  most ;  or,  if  they  survived,  then  the 
disease  descended  into  the  bowels  and  there  produced 
violent  ulcerations ;  severe  diarrhoea  at  the  same  time  set 
in,  and  at  a  later  stage  caused  exhaustion,  which  finally 
with  few  exceptions  carried  them  off. 

For  the  disorder,  which  had  originally  settled  in  the 
head,  passed  gradually  through  the  whole  body,  and,  if  a 
person  got  through  the  worst,  would  often  seize  the  ex- 
tremities and  leave  its  mark,  attacking  the  fingers  and  the 
toes ;  and  some  escaped  with  the  loss  of  these,  some  with 
the  loss  of  their  eyes.  Some  again  had  no  sooner  recovered 
than  they  were  seized  with  a  forgetfulness  of  all  things, 
and  knew  neither  themselves  nor  their  friends. 

The  malady  took  a  form  not  to  be  described,  and  the 
fury  with  which  it  fastened  upon  each  sufferer  was  too 
much  for  human  nature  to  endure.    There  was  one  circum- 


94  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Thucydides 

stance  in  particular  which  distinguished  it  from  ordinary 
diseases.  The  birds  and  animals  which  feed  on  human 
flesh,  although  so  many  bodies  were  lying  unburied,  either 
never  came  near  them,  or  died  if  they  touched  them.  This 
was  j)roved  by  a  remarkable  disajDpearance  of  the  birds  of 
prey,  who  were  not  to  be  seen  either  about  the  bodies  or 
anywhere  else ;  while  in  the  case  of  the  dogs  the  ftict  was 
even  more  obvious,  because  they  live  with  man. 

Such  was  the  general  nature  of  the  disease :  I  omit  many 
strange  peculiarities  which  characterized  individual  cases. 
None  of  the  ordinary  sicknesses  attacked  any  one  while  it 
lasted,  or,  if  they  did,  they  ended  in  the  plague.  Some  of 
the  sufferers  died  from  want  of  care,  others  equally  who 
were  r  -oiving  the  greatest  attention.  No  single  remedy 
could  be  deemed  a  sj)ecific ;  for  that  which  did  good  to  one 
did  harm  to  another.  No  constitution  was  of  itself  strono" 
enough  to  resist  or  weak  enough  to  escape  the  attacks ; 
the  disease  carried  off  all  alike,  and  defied  every  mode  of 
treatment.  Most  appalling  was  the  despondency  which 
seized  upon  any  one  who  felt  himself  sickening ;  for  he 
instantly  abandoned  his  mind  to  despaii',  and,  instead  of 
holding  out,  absolutely  threw  away  his  chance  of  life. 
Appalling,  too,  was  the  rapidity  with  which  men  caught 
the  infection;  dying  like  sheep  if  they  attended  on  one 
another;  and  this  was  the  princii:)al  cause  of  mortality. 
When  they  were  afraid  to  visit  one  another,  the  sufferers 
died  in  their  solitude,  so  that  many  houses  were  empty 
because  there  had  been  no  one  left  to  take  care  of  the  sick ; 
or  if  they  ventured  they  perished,  esj)ecially  those  who 
aspired  to  heroism.  For  they  went  to  see  their  friends 
without  thought  of  themselves,  and  were  ashamed  to  leave 
them,  even  at  a  time  when  the  very  relations  of  the  dying 
were  at  last  growing  weary  and  ceased  to  make  lamenta- 
tions, overwhelmed  by  the  vastness  of  the  calamity. 


Thucydides]       the  plague  AT  ATHENS.  95 

But,  whatever  instances  there  may  have  been  of  such 
devotion,  more  often  the  sick  and  the  dying  were  tended 
by  the  pitying  care  of  those  who  had  recovered,  because 
they  knew  the  course  of  the  disease  and  were  themselves 
free  from  apprehension.  For  no  one  was  ever  attacked  a 
second  time,  or  not  with  a  fatal  result.  All  men  congratu- 
lated them,  and  they  themselves,  in  the  excess  of  their  joy 
at  the  moment,  had  an  innocent  fancy  that  they  could  not 
die  of  any  other  sickness. 

The  crowding  of  the  people  out  of  the  country  into  the 
city  aggravated  the  misery ;  and  the  newly-arrived  suffered 
most.  For,  having  no  houses  of  their  own,  and  inhabiting 
in  the  heat  of  summer  stifling  huts,  the  mortality  among 
them  was  dreadful,  and  they  perished  in  wild  disorder. 
The  dead  lay  as  they  had  died,  one  upon  another,  while 
others  hardly  alive  wallowed  in  the  streets  and  crawled 
about  every  fountain  craving  for  water.  The  temples  in 
which  they  lodged  were  full  of  the  corpses  of  those  who 
had  died  in  them ;  for  the  violence  of  the  calamity  was 
such  that  men,  not  knowing  where  to  turn,  grew  reckless 
of  all  law,  human  and  divine.  The  customs  which  had 
hitherto  been  observed  at  funerals  were  universally  vio- 
lated, and  they  buried  their  dead  each  one  as  best  he  could. 
Many,  having  no  proper  appliances,  because  the  deaths  in 
their  household  had  been  so  frequent,  made  no  scruple  of 
using  the  burial-place  of  others.  When  one  man  had  raised 
a  funeral  pile,  others  would  come,  and,  throwing  on  their 
dead  first,  set  fire  to  it ;  or  when  some  other  cor]5se  was 
ah-eady  burning,  before  they  could  be  stopped  would  throw 
their  own  dead  upon  it  and  depart. 

There  were  other  and  worse  forms  of  lawlessness  which 
the  plague  introduced  at  Athens.  Men  who  had  hitherto 
concealed  their  indulgence  in  pleasure  now  grew  bolder. 
For,  seeing  the  sudden  change, — how  the  rich  died  in  a 


96  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.        [Thucydides 

moment,  and  those  who  had  nothing  immediately  inherited 
their  property, — they  reflected  that  life  and  riches  were 
alike  transitory,  and  they  resolved  to  enjoy  themselves 
Avhile  they  could,  and  to  think  only  of  pleasure.  Who 
would  bo  willing  to  sacrifice  himself  to  the  law  of  honor 
when  he  knew  not  whether  he  would  ever  live  to  be  held 
in  honor  ?  The  pleasure  of  the  moment,  and  any  sort  of 
thing  which  conduced  to  it,  took  the  jjlace  both  of  honor 
and  of  expediency.  No  fear  of  Grod  or  law  of  man  de- 
terred a  criminal.  Those  who  saw  all  perishing  alike, 
thought  that  the  worship  or  neglect  of  the  gods  made  no 
difference.  For  offences  against  human  law  no  punishment 
was  to  be  feared ;  no  one  would  live  long  enough  to  be 
called  to  account.  Already  a  far  heavier  sentence  had 
been  passed  and  was  hanging  over  a  man's  head ;  before 
that  fell,  why  should  he  not  take  a  little  pleasure  ? 

Such  was  the  grievous  calamity  which  now  afflicted  the 
Athenians :  within  the  walls  the  peojjle  were  dying,  and 
without,  their  country  was  being  ravaged.  In  their  troubles 
they  naturally  called  to  mind  a  verse  which  the  elder  men 
among  them  declared  to  have  been  current  long  ago : 
"  A  Dorian  war  will  come,  and  a  plague  with  it." 

There  is  a  dispute  about  the  precise  expression ;  some 
saying  that  limos,  a  famine,  and  not  loi7nos,  a  plague,  was 
the  original  word.  Nevertheless,  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, for  men's  memories  reflected  their  sufferings,  the 
argument  in  favor  of  loimos  prevailed  at  the  time.  But 
if  ever  in  future  years  another  Dorian  war  arises,  which 
happens  to  be  accompanied  by  a  famine,  they  will  probably 
repeat  the  verse  in  the  other  form. 

The  answer  of  the  oracle  to  the  Lacedaemonians,  when 
the  god  was  asked  "  whether  they  should  go  to  war  or 
not,"  and  he  replied  "  that  if  they  fought  with  all  their 
might  they  would  conquer,  and  that  he  himself  would  take 


Various]  LYRIC  FRAGMENTS.  97 

their  part,"  was  not  forgotten  by  those  who  had  heard  of 
it,  and  they  quite  imagined  that  they  were  witnessing  the 
fulfilment  of  his  words.  The  disease  cei'tainly  did  set  in 
immediately  after  the  invasion  of  the  Peloponnesians,  and 
did  not  spread  into  Peloponnesus  in  any  degree  worth 
speaking  of,  while  Athens  felt  its  ravages  most  severely, 
and  next  to  Athens  the  places  which  were  most  j)opulous. 
Such  was  the  history  of  the  plague. 


LYRIC  FRAGMENTS. 

VARIOUS. 


[Of  the  early  lyric  poetry  of  Greece,  though  considerable  in  quantity 
and  often  very  fine  in  quality,  but  little  remains  to  us.  Tlie  triumphal 
odes  of  Pindar  and  a  poem  or  two  by  Sappho  are  nearly  all  that  we 
possess  complete.  Anacreon  is  represented  only  by  the  songs  of  his  imi- 
tators, with  the  exception  of  some  fragments,  and  a  few  poems  doubt- 
fully his,  while  of  several  other  celebrated  poets  only  sparse  remnants 
of  verse  have  come  down  to  us.  It  is  our  purpose,  in  the  present 
Half-Hour  selection,  to  present  a  series  of  these,  as  the  finest  existing 
relics  of  some  of  the  best  lyric  authors  of  Greece.  The  period  after 
Homer  and  Hesiod  seems  to  have  been  long  barren  of  meritorious 
poets,  or  at  least  little  trace  or  tradition  of  any  such  has  survived,  and 
wo  must  come  down  two  centuries,  to  the  era  of  Tyrtseus  and  Archilo- 
chus,  for  any  poets  of  reputation.  The  period  of  these  poets  is  some- 
what uncertain,  but  seems  to  have  been  the  half-century  after  700  B.C. 
Archilochus  was  of  high  repute  with  the  ancients.  They  classed  him 
with  Homer,  dedicated  the  statues  of  both  on  the  same  day,  and  even 
placed  both  their  heads  on  the  one  bust.  His  fame  was  principally 
based  on  his  satirical  iambic  verees.  But  these  are  all  lost,  and  we 
possess  only  a  few  fragments  of  a  philosophic  character.  Some  of 
these  are  here  appended.] 

EQUANIMITY. 

Spirit !    thou  spirit,  like  a  troubled  sea. 
Ruffled  with  deep  and  hard  calamity, 
I. — E       g  9 


98  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

Sustain  the  shock :  a  daring  heart  oppose  : 
Stand  firm,  amidst  the  charging  spears  of  foes : 
If  conquering,  vaunt  not  in  vainglorious  show ; 
If  conquered,  stoop  not,  prostrated  in  woe : 
Moderate,  in  joy,  rejoice  ;  in  sorrow,  mourn  : 
Muse  on  man's  lot;  be  thine  discreetly  borne. 

Elton. 

THE   TURNS   OF   FORTUNE. 

Leave  the  gods  to  order  aU  things : 

Often  from  the  gulf  of  woe 
They  exalt  the  poor  man,  grov'ling 

In  the  gloomy  shades  below, 
Often  turn  again,  and  prostrate 

Lay  in  dust  the  loftiest  head, 
Dooming  him  through  life  to  wander, 

'Eeft  of  sense,  and  wanting  bread. 

THE   MIND   OF   MAN. 

The  mind  of  man  is  such  as  Jove 

Ordains  by  his  immortal  will : 
He  moulds  it,  in  the  courts  above, 

His  heavenly  purpose  to  fulfil.      Merivale. 

TWO   MILITARY  PORTRAITS. 

^  Boast  me  not  your  valiant  captain, 

Strutting  fierce  with  measured  stride, 
Glorying  in  his  well-trimmed  beard  and 

"Wavy  ringlets'  clustered  pride. 
Mine  be  he  that's  short  of  stature, 

Firm  of  foot,  with  curved  knee, 
Heart  of  oak  in  limb  and  feature, 

And  a  courage  bold  and  free.         Merivale. 


Various]  LYRIC  FRAGMENTS.  99 

[Tyrtaius,  a  contemporary  of  Archiloclius,  was  celebrated  for  his 
political  elegies  and  mai'ching  songs.  "We  fortunately  possess  several 
of  these  complete.  It  is  said  that  the  Spartans,  unsuccessful  in  a 
war  with  the  Messenians,  were  told  by  the  Delphic  oracle  that  their 
ill  luck  would  continue  until  they  headed  their  troops  with  an  Athenian 
general.  They  applied  to  Athena  accordingly,  and  were  sent,  in  de- 
rision, it  is  said,  the  lame  school-master  and  poet  Tyrtseus.  His  stir- 
ring war-songs,  however,  roused  their  spent  spirits,  while  his  elegies 
stilled  their  home  dissensions,  and  they  completely  subdued  their 
enemies.  Whatever  this  tradition  be  worth,  the  martial  lyrics  of  the 
poet  were  highly  esteemed  in  Greece.  We  append  a  portion  of  one  of 
his  odes,  from  a  translation  published  in  Fraser's  Magazine.'] 

THE  DUTY  OP  THE  YOUTHFUL  PATRIOT. 

Glorious  it  is  to  emulate  the  brave, 

And  for  a  country  and  a  country's  right 

To  strive,  to  fall,  and  gain  a  bloody  grave, 
Amid  the  foremost  heroes  in  the  fight.  .  .  . 

Now  fight  we  for  our  children  for  this  land  ; 

Our  lives  unheeding,  let  us  bravely  die. 
Courage,  ye  youths !  together  firmly  stand ; 

Think  not  of  fear,  nor  ever  turn  to  fly. 

In  fight  with  men,  of  life  regardless  be : 

JSTow  all  your  breasts  inflame  with  noble  rage ; 

Let  none  e'er  basely  turn  his  back  to  flee, 

And  those  desert  whose  knees  are  stiff  with  age. 

Oh,  shame  it  were  that,  fall'n  among  the  van. 
Dust  soiled  the  snowy  beard,  the  hoary  head, 

And  naked  carcass  of  an  aged  man, 

Nearer  the  foe  than  lay  the  younger  dead ! 

O  ye  who  youth's  gay  flower  as  yet  can  boast ! 

Alive,  so  beauteous  in  soft  woman's  sight. 
Dying,  admired  by  men  among  the  host. 

Brave  falling  'mid  the  foremost  in  the  fight, 


100  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

Or,  having  joined  together  in  a  band, 
To  join  the  foremost  in  the  battle  keen, 

With  feet  apart  let  each  one  firmly  stand. 
And  with  lip  hard  compressed  his  teeth  between. 

[Of  the  other  poets  of  the  same  period  the  most  famous  was  Ste- 
sichorus,  whose  merits  are  extravagantly  extolled  by  the  ancients.  A 
few  brief  fragments  remain  of  his  poems,  of  which  we  quote  the  fol- 
lowing.] 

A   PROCESSION. 

Before  the  regal  chariot,  as  it  passed. 

Were  bright  Cydonian  a2)ples  scattered  round, 

And  myrtle-leaves,  in  showers  of  fragrance  cast, 
And  many  a  wreath  was  there  with  roses  bound. 

And  many  a  coronal,  wherein  were  set. 

Like  gems,  rich  rows  of  purple  violet.  Merivale. 

THE    END    OF   MAN. 

Yain  it  is  for  those  to  weep 

Who  repose  in  death's  last  sleep. 

With  man's  life  ends  all  the  story 

Of  his  wisdom,  wit,  and  glory.        Langhornk. 

[Half  a  century  later,  about  610  B.C.,  flourished  a  poet  of  higher 
note  in  the  lyric  ranks,  Alcseus,  a  native  of  Mitylene  on  the  island  of 
Lesbos.  This  was  the  birthplace  of  Sappho,  of  whom  he  was  a  con- 
temporary and  a  reputed  lover.  He  became  one  of  the  most  famous  of 
the  lyric  writers  of  Greece,  his  odes,  of  which  ten  books  are  ascribed 
to  him,  being  chiefly  invectives  against  tyrants,  and  patriotic  lamenta- 
tions.    We  quote  one  or  two  of  the  few  fragments  that  yet  exist.] 

POVERTY. 

The  worst  of  ills,  and  hardest  to  endure, 

Past  hojje,  past  cure. 
Is  Penury,  who,  with  her  sister-mate 
Disorder,  soon  brings  down  the  loftiest  state, 

And  makes  it  desolate. 


Various]  LFEIC  FRAGMENTS.  101 

This  truth  the  Sage  of  Sj)arta  told, 

Aristodemus  old, — 
"Wealth  makes  the  man."     On  him  that's  poor 
Proud  worth  looks  down,  and  honor  shuts  the  door. 

Merivale. 

a  convivial  song. 
Why  wait  we  for  the  torches'  lights  ? 
Now  let  us  drink,  while  day  invites. 
In  mighty  flagons  hither  bring 

The  deep-red  blood  of  many  a  vine, 
That  we  may  largely  quaft',  and  sing 

The  praises  of  the  God  of  wine, 

The  son  of  Jove  and  Semele, 
Who  gave  the  jocund  grape  to  be 
A  sweet  oblivion  to  our  woes. 

Fill,  fill  the  goblet — one  and  two : 
Let  every  brimmer,  as  it  flows. 

In  sportive  chase  the  last  pursue. 

Merivale. 

[The  wise  Solon,  the  celebrated  lawgiver  of  Athens,  was  not  above 
the  allurements  of  poetry,  as  the  following  selection  from  his  poetic 
relics  will  show.] 

HAPPINESS. 

The  man  who  boasts  of  golden  stores 
Of  grain,  that  loads  his  groaning  floors. 
Of  fields  with  freshening  herbage  green, 
Where  bounding  steeds  and  herds  are  seen, 
I  call  not  hapjiier  than  the  swain 
Whose  limbs  are  sound,  whose  food  is  plain, 
Whose  joys  a  blooming  wife  endears. 
Whose  hours  a  smiling  off'spring  cheers. 

Langhorne. 
I.  9* 


102  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

[Of  the  several  other  poets  who  achieved  high  reputation  in  this 
eai'ly  period,  the  most  extended  relics  we  possess  are  those  ascribed  to 
Theognis,  born  at  Megara  in  549  B.C.  His  style  is  not  attractive,  but 
the  following  selection  is  full  of  a  pleasant  "  Home,  Sweet  Home" 
flavor.] 

THE   wanderer's   RETURN    HOME. 

Wide  have  I  wandered,  far  beyond  the  sea, 

Even  to  the  distant  shores  of  Sicily ; 

To  broad  Euboea's  plentiful  domain, 

With  the  rich  vineyards  in  its  planted  plain ; 

And  to  the  sunny  wave  and  winding  edge 

Of  fair  Eurotas  with  its  reedy  sedge — 

Where  Sparta  stands  in  simple  majesty : 

Among  her  manly  rulers  there  was  I — 

Greeted  and  welcomed  there  and  everywhere 

With  courteous  entertainment,  kind  and  fair ; 

Yet  still  my  weary  sj)irit  would  repine. 

Longing  again  to  view  this  land  of  mine. 

Henceforward  no  design,  no  interest. 

Shall  ever  move  me,  but  the  first  and  best, — 

With  Learning's  hap^^y  gift  to  celebrate 

Adorn,  and  dignify  my  native  state. 

The  song  and  dance,  music  and  verse  agreeing. 

Will  occupy  my  life  and  fill  my  being ; 

Pursuits  of  elegance  and  learned  skill 

(With  good  repute,  and  kindness,  and  good  will 

Among  the  wisest  sort)  will  pass  my  time 

Without  an  enemy,  without  a  crime. 

Harmless  and  just  with  every  rank  of  men. 

Both  the  free  native  and  the  denizen.  Frere. 

[The  poet  from  whom  we  have  next  to  select,  Simonides,  was  a  con- 
temporary of  Anacreon  and  Pindar,  and  was  of  high  estimation  among 
the  lyric  poets  of  Greece.  He  was  born  in  the  island  of  Ceos  about  556 
B.C.,  and  lived  to  the  age  of  eighty-nine.  His  verses  are  marked  by 
great  sweetness,  fine  expression,  and  elaborate  finish,  but  display  more 


Various]  LYRIC  FRAGMENTS.  103 

tenderness  than  energy.  The  following  poem  is  based  on  the  tradition 
that  Danae,  with  her  infant  son  (who  afterwards  became  the  famous 
hero  Perseus),  was  confined  by  order  of  her  father  in  a  cliest  and  set 
adrift  upon  the  sea,  from  which  she  was  rescued  by  a  fishei-man.  The 
fine  translation  we  give  is  by  William  Peter.] 

LAMENTATION   OP   DANAE. 

Whilst,  around  her  lone  ark  sweeping, 

"Wailed  the  winds  and  waters  wild, 
Her  young  cheeks  all  wan  with  weeping, 

Danae  clasped  her  sleeping  child ; 
And  "Alas!"  cried  she,  "my  dearest, 

What  deep  wrongs,  what  woes,  are  mine ! 
But  nor  wrongs  nor  woes  thou  fearest, 

In  that  sinless  rest  of  thine. 
Faint  the  moonbeams  break  above  thee, 

And,  within  here,  all  is  gloom. 
But,  ftist  wrapped  in  arms  that  love  thee, 

Little  reck'st  thou  of  our  doom. 
Not  the  rude  spray,  round  thee  flying, 

Has  e'er  damj^ed  thy  clustering  hair, 
On  thy  purple  mantlet  lying, 

O  mine  Innocent,  my  Fair ! 
Yet,  to  thee  were  sorrow  sorrow. 

Thou  wouldst  lend  thy  little  ear, 
And  this  heart  of  mine  might  borrow, 

Haply,  yet  a  moment's  cheer. 
But  no :  slumber  on,  babe,  slumber; 

Slumber,  ocean  waves ;  and  you, 
My  dark  troubles,  without  number, — 

Oh  that  ye  would  slumber  too ! 
Though  with  wrongs  they've  brimmed  my  chalice. 

Grant,  Jove,  that,  in  future  years, 
This  boy  may  defeat  their  malice 

And  avenge  his  mother's  tears. 


104  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  TVarious 

VIRTUE. 

Virtue  delights  her  home  to  keep — 
Say  the  wise  of  the  olden  time — 

High  on  a  rugged,  rocky  steep, 
Which  man  may  hardly  climb  ; 

And  there  a  pure,  bright,  shining  band. 

Her  ministers,  around  her  stand. 

No  mortal  man  may  ever  look 

That  form  august  to  see 
Until  with  patient  toil  he  brook 

The  sweat  of  mental  agony ; 
Which  all  must  do,  who  reach  that  goal. 
The  perfect  manhood  of  the  soul.  Hay. 

ON    ANACREON. 

Bland  mother  of  the  grape !  all-gladdening  vine ! 

Teeming  inebriate  joy !  whose  tendrils  blown 
Crisp-woven  in  winding  trail,  now  green  entwine 

This  pillared  top,  this  mount,  Anacreon's  tomb. 
As  lover  of  the  feast,  th'  untempered  bowl. 
While  the  full  draught  was  reeling  in  his  soul. 
He  smote  upon  the  harp,  whose  melodies 

Were  turned  to  girlish  loves,  till  midnight  fled ; 
Now,  fallen  to  earth,  embower  him  as  he  lies. 

Thy  purpling  clusters  blushing  o'er  his  head  : 
Still  be  fresh  dew  uj)on  thy  branches  hung, 
Like  that  which  breathed  from  his  enchanting  tongue. 

Hay. 

[Of  the  Epitaphs  of  Simonides  the  most  famous  is  that  upon  the 
Spartan  dead  who  fell  at  Thermopylae.  Of  the  many  translations  of 
this  celebrated  two-line  epitaph,  we  give  that  of  Arnold.] 

Go,  stranger,  tell  the  Spartans  here  we  lie, 
Faithful  to  death,  because  they  bade  us  die. 


Various]  LYRIC  FRAGMENTS.  105 

[Our  closing  extracts  arc  from  two  writers  who  would  hardly  he 
expected  to  indulge  in  poetry,  the  celehrated  philosophers  Plato  and 
Aristotle.  Plato,  however,  whose  turn  of  mind  was  essentially  imagi- 
native, had  become  a  skilled  poet  before  he  took  up  the  study  of  phi- 
losophy, and  has  left  us  several  fragments  of  great  merit.  We  append 
some  examples.] 

ON   A   RURAL    IMAGE   OF    PAN. 

Sleep,  ye  rude  winds ;  be  every  murmur  dead 

On  yonder  oak-crowned  promontory's  head  ! 

Be  still,  ye  bleating  flocks, — your  shepherd  calls : 

Hang  silent  on  your  rocks,  ye  waterfalls ! 

Pan  on  his  oaten  pipe  awakes  the  strain, 

And  fills  with  dulcet  sounds  the  pastoral  plain. 

Lured  by  his  notes,  the  Nymphs  their  bowers  forsake, 

From  every  fountain,  running  stream,  and  lake, 

From  every  hill,  and  ancient  grove  around, 

And  to  symphonious  measures  strike  the  gi-ound. 

Merivale. 

on  a  sleeping  cupid. 
I  pierced  the  grove,  and  in  its  deepest  gloom 
Beheld  sweet  Love,  of  heavenly  form  and  bloom ; 
Nor  bow  nor  quiver  at  his  back  were  strung. 
But  harmless  on  the  neighboring  branches  hung. 
On  rosebuds  pillowed  lay  the  little  child, 
Li  glowing  slumbers  pleased,  and  sleeping  smiled, 
While  all  around  the  bees  delighted  sip 
The  breathing  fragrance  of  his  balmy  lip.  Bland. 

A   lover's   WISH. 

Why  dost  thou  gaze  upon  the  sky  ? 

Oh  that  I  were  yon  spangled  sphere ! 
Then  every  star  should  be  an  eye. 

To  wander  o'er  thy  beauties  here.      T.  Moore. 


106  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

EPITAPH   ON   ARISTOPHANES. 

The  Muses,  seeking  for  a  shrine 

Whose  glories  ne'er  shall  cease, 
Found,  as  they  strayed,  the  soul  divine 

Of  Aristophanes.  Merivale. 

[Aristotle,  though  colder  and  more  prosaic  of  genius  than  Plato, 
had  his  share  of  poetic  ability,  as  is  evidenced  in  the  following  fine 
Hymn,  written  in  honor  of  his  patron,  Hermias,  tyrant  of  Atarnea.] 

HYMN    TO    VIRTUE. 

O  sought  with  toil  and  mortal  strife 

By  those  of  human  birth. 
Virtue,  thou  noblest  end  of  life, 

Thou  goodliest  gain  on  earth ! 
Thee,  maid,  to  win,  our  youth  would  bear, 
Unwearied,  fiery  pains,  and  dare 

Death  for  thy  beauty's  worth  ; 
So  bright  thy  proffered  honors  shine. 
Like  clusters  of  a  fruit  divine. 

Sweeter  than  slumber's  boasted  joys, 

And  more  desired  than  gold. 
Dearer  than  nature's  dearest  ties, — 

For  thee  those  heroes  old, 
Herculean  son  of  highest  Jove, 
And  the  twin  birth  of  Leda,  strove 

By  perils  manifold : 
Great  Peleus'  son,  with  like  desire. 
And  Ajax,  sought  the  Stygian  fire. 

The  bard  shall  crown  with  lasting  lay, 

And  age  immortal  make 
Atarnea's  sovereign,  'reft  of  day 

For  thy  dear  beauty's  sake : 


Dbmosthenes]   the  SECOND  OLYNTHIAC  ORATION.       107 

Him,  therefore,  the  recording  Nine 
In  songs  extol  to  heights  divine, 

And  every  chord  awake. 
Promoting  still,  with  reverence  due, 
The  meed  of  friendship  tried  and  true. 

Merivale. 


THE  SECOND  OLYNTHIAC  ORATION. 

DEMOSTHENES. 

[The  greatest  of  the  Greek  orators,  the  greatest  of  the  world's  orators, 
if  we  may  accept  the  verdict  of  the  ablest  authorities  upon  the  subject, 
was  Demosthenes,  a  native  of  Athens,  in  which  city  he  was  born  either 
in  881  or  38-1  B.C.  At  an  early  age  he  undertook  the  study  of  oratory, 
an  art  for  which  he  was  ill  fitted  by  nature.  His  frame  was  feeble, 
his  voice  weak,  his  mannei-  shy  and  awkward,  and  his  gesture  un- 
graceful. Nevertheless  effort  and  industry  enabled  him  to  overcome 
most  of  these  defects.  To  strengthen  his  lungs  he  would  declaim 
while  ascending  steep  hills,  or  raise  his  voice  in  rivalry  with  the  stormy 
ocean.  A  natural  defect  in  delivery  he  is  said  to  have  overcome  by 
practising  declamation  with  pebbles  in  his  mouth.  The  art  of  gesture 
he  learned  by  exercise  before  a  mirror,  and  gained  fluency  of  speech 
by  constant  study  and  memorizing. '  Yet  he  was  never  ready  at  extem- 
poraneous oratory,  but  always  required  to  prepare  his  orations. 

Demosthenes  entered  public  life  at  a  critical  period,  that  in  which 
Philip  of  Macedon  was  intriguing  against  the  liberty  of  Greece.  In 
a  series  of  brilliant  orations,  extending  over  many  years,  he  warned 
his  countrymen  against  the  policy  of  this  crafty  monarch,  yet  foiled  to 
waken  them  to  a  full  sense  of  the  situation ;  and  the  fatal  battle  of 
Chseronea,  in  338  B.C.,  put  an  end  to  Grecian  liberty.  Demosthenes, 
pursued  by  Macedonian  enemies,  finally  died  in  322  b  c,  by  poison, 
believed  to  have  been  administered  by  his  own  hand. 

His  orations  are  models  of  the  art.  Bold  and  simple  in  style,  clear 
in  narrative,  elegant  and  pure  in  diction,  they  combine  with  this 
an  \inequalled  earnestness,  power,  rapidity,  and  passion,  that  carried 


108  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Demosthenes 

away  all  bearers  on  their  flood  of  eloquence.  In  language  they  are 
direct  and  unornamented,  and  in  their  reasoning  business-like,  while 
they  have  characteristics  to  please  every  grade  of  bearers,  their  force 
and  vigor  convincing  some,  their  grace  and  bannony  captivating  others, 
and  their  emotional  earnestness  controlling  a  still  greater  number. 
Of  these  orations  sixty-one  are  in  existence,  some  of  them  doubtfully 
his.  We  select  a  portion  of  one  of  the  ablest,  the  second  of  those 
designed  to  arouse  the  Athenians  to  the  defence  of  the  Thracian  city 
of  Olynthus  against  the  schemes  of  Philip.] 

I  AM  by  no  means  affected  in  the  same  manner,  Athe- 
nians, when  I  review  the  state  of  our  affairs,  and  when  I 
attend  to  those  speakers  who  have  now  declared  their 
sentiments.  Tliey  insist  that  we  should  punish  Philip ; 
but  our  affairs,  situated  as  they  now  appear,  warn  us  to 
guard  against  the  dangers  with  which  we  ourselves  are 
threatened.  Thus  far,  therefore,  I  must  differ  from  those 
speakers,  that  I  apprehend  they  have  not  proposed  the 
proper  object  of  your  attention.  There  was  a  time,  indeed, 
I  know  it  well,  when  the  state  could  have  possessed  her 
own  dominions  in  security,  and  sent  out  her  armies  to 
inflict  chastisement  on  Philip.  I  myself  have  seen  that 
time  when  we  enjoyed  such  power.  But  now  I  am  per- 
suaded we  should  confine  ourselves  to  the  protection  of 
our  allies.  When  this  is  once  effected,  then  we  may  con- 
sider the  punishment  his  outrages  have  merited.  But,  till 
the  first  great  point  be  well  secured,  it  is  weakness  to  debate 
about  our  more  remote  concernments. 

And  now,  Athenians,  if  ever  we  stood  in  need  of  mature 
deliberation  and  counsel,  the  present  juncture  calls  loudly 
for  them.  To  point  out  the  course  to  be  pursued  on  this 
emergency  1  do  not  think  the  greatest  difficulty :  but  I  am 
in  doubt  in  what  manner  to  propose  my  sentiments ;  for 
all  that  I  have  observed,  and  all  that  I  have  heard,  con- 
vinces me  that  most  of  your  misfortunes  have  proceeded 


Demosthenes]  THE  SECOND  OLYNTHIAG  ORATION.       109 

from  a  want  of  inclination  to  pursue  the  necessary  meas- 
ures, not  from  ignorance  of  them.  Let  me  entreat  you  that, 
if  I  now  speak  with  an  unusual  boldness,  you  may  bear  it, 
considering  only  whether  I  speak  truth,  and  with  a  sincere 
intention  to  advance  your  future  interests ;  for  you  now  see 
that  by  some  orators,  who  study  but  to  gain  your  ftivor,  our 
aifairs  have  been  reduced  to  the  extremity  of  distress. 

I  think  it  necessary,  in  the  first  place,  to  recall  some  late 
transactions  to  your  thoughts.  You  may  remember,  Athe- 
nians, that  about  three  or  four  years  since  you  received 
advice  that  Philip  was  in  Thrace,  and  had  laid  siege  to  the 
fortress  of  Hersea.  It  was  then  the  month  of  November. 
Great  commotions  and  debates  arose :  it  was  resolved  to 
send  out  forty  galleys ;  that  all  citizens  under  the  age  of 
five-and-forty  should  themselves  embark ;  and  that  sixty 
talents  should  be  raised.  Thus  it  was  agreed.  That  year 
passed  away ;  then  came  in  the  months  July,  August,  Sep- 
tember. In  this  last  month,  with  great  difficulty,  when 
the  mysteries  had  been  first  celebrated,  you  sent  out  Chari- 
demus,  with  just  ten  vessels  unmanned,  and  five  talents  of 
silver.  For  when  reports  came  of  the  sickness  and  death 
of  Philip  (both  of  these  were  afiirmed)  you  laid  aside  your 
intended  armament,  imagining  that  at  such  a  juncture 
there  was  no  need  of  succors.  And  yet  this  was  the  very 
critical  moment ;  for  had  they  been  despatched  with  the 
same  alacrity  with  which  they  were  granted,  Philip  would 
not  then  have  escaped  to  become  that  formidable  enemy 
he  now  appears. 

But  what  was  then  done  cannot  be  amended.  Now  we 
have  the  opportvmity  of  another  war:  that  war,  I  mean, 
which  has  induced  me  to  bring  these  transactions  into 
view,  that  you  may  not  once  more  fall  into  the  same 
errors.  How,  then,  shall  we  improve  this  opportunity? 
This  is  the  only  question.  For  if  you  are  not  resolved  to 
I  10 


110  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Demosthenes 

assist  with  all  the  force  you  can  command,  you  are  really 
serving  under  Philip  ;  you  are  fighting  on  his  side.  .  .  . 

As  to  the  necessity  of  sending  succors  [to  the  Olyn- 
thians],  this,  it  may  be  said,  we  are  agreed  in ;  this  is  our 
resolution.  But  how  shall  we  be  enabled? — that  is  the 
point  to  be  explained.  Be  not  surprised,  Athenians,  if  my 
sentiments  on  this  occasion  seem  repugnant  to  the  general 
sense  of  this  assembly.  Appoint  magistrates  for  the  in- 
spection of  your  laws :  not  in  order  to  enact  any  new  law, 
— ^you  already  have  a  sufficient  number, — but  to  repeal 
those  whose  ill  effects  you  now  experience.  I  mean  the 
laws  relating  to  the  theatrical  funds*  (thus  openly  I  de- 
clare it),  and  some  about  the  soldiery.  By  the  first  the 
soldier's  pay  goes,  as  theatrical  expenses,  to  the  useless  and 
inactive ;  the  others  screen  those  from  justice  who  decline 
the  service  of  the  field,  and  thus  damp  the  ardor  of  those 
who  wish  to  serve  us.  When  you  have  repealed  these,  and 
rendered  it  consistent  with  safety  to  advise  you,  justly  then 
seek  for  some  person  to  propose  that  decree  which  you  are 
all  sensible  the  common  good  requires.  But  until  this  be 
done,  expect  not  that  any  man  will  urge  your  true  interest, 
when  for  urging  your  true  interest  you  repay  him  with 
destruction.  ... 

And  be  not  ignorant  of  this,  Athenians,  that  a  decree 
is  of  no  significance  unless  attended  with  resolution  and 
alacrity  to  execute  it.  For  were  decrees  of  themselves 
sufficient  to  engage  you  to  perform  your  duty — could  they 
even  execute  the  things  which  they  enact,  so  many  would 
not  have  been  made  to  so  little  or  rather  to  no  good  pur- 
pose ;  nor  would  the  insolence  of  Philip  have  had  so  long 
a  date :  for  if  decrees  can  punish,  ho  has  long  since  felt  all 

*  It  had  been  decreed  a  capital  offence  to  propose  to  apply  this  money 
to  a  military  purpose. 


Demosthenes]  THE  SECOND  OLYNTIIIAC  ORATION.       HI 

their  fiuy.  But  they  have  no  such  power;  for  though 
proposing  and  resolving  be  first  in  order,  yet  in  force 
and  efficacy  action  is  superior.  Let  this,  then,  be  your 
principal  concern ;  the  others  you  cannot  want,  for  you 
have  men  among  you  capable  of  advising,  and  you  are  of 
all  people  most  acute  in  apprehending.  Now  let  your 
interest  direct  you,  and  it  will  be  in  your  power  to  be  as 
remarkable  for  acting.  What  season,  indeed,  what  oppor- 
tunity, do  you  wait  for  more  favorable  than  the  present  ? 
or  when  will  you  exert  your  vigor  if  not  now,  my  country- 
men ?  Has  not  this  man  seized  all  those  places  that  were 
ours  ?  Should  he  become  master  of  this  country  too,  must 
we  not  sink  into  the  lowest  state  of  infamy?  Are  not  they 
whom  we  have  promised  to  assist,  whenever  they  are  en- 
gaged in  war,  now  attacked  themselves?  Is  he  not  our 
enemy  ?  is  he  not  in  possession  of  our  dominions  ?  is  he  not 
a  barbarian  ?  *  is  he  not  every  base  thing  words  can  ex- 
press ?  If  we  are  insensible  to  all  this,  if  we  almost  aid 
his  designs — heavens !  can  we  then  ask  to  whom  the  con- 
sequences are  owing  ?  Yes,  I  know  full  well  we  never  will 
impute  them  to  ourselves.  Just  as,  in  the  dangers  of  the 
field,  not  one  of  those  who  fly  will  accuse  himself;  he  will 
rather  blame  the  general  or  his  fellow-soldiers ;  yet  every 
single  man  that  fled  was  accessory  to  the  defeat.  He  who 
blaines  others  might  have  maintained  his  own  post ;  and 
had  every  man  maintained  his,  success  must  have  ensued. 
Thus,  then,  in  the  present  case  is  there  a  man  whose  counsel 
seems  liable  to  objection?  let  the  next  rise,  and  not  inveigh 
against  him,  but  declare  his  own  oijinion.  Does  another 
ofl'er  some  more  salutary  counsel  ?  pursue  it,  in  the  name 
of  heaven !  "  But  then  it  is  not  pleasing."  This  is  not 
the  fault  of  the  speaker,  unless  in  that  he  has  neglected  to 

*  This  word  in  Greece  was  equivalent  to  "  a  foreigner." 


112  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Demosthenes 

express  his  affection  in  prcayers  and  wishes.  To  pray  is 
easy,  Athenians ;  and  in  one  petition  may  be  collected  as 
many  instances  of  good  fortune  as  we  please.  To  deter- 
mine justly,  when  affairs  are  to  be  considered,  is  not  so  easy. 
But  what  is  most  useful  should  ever  be  preferred  to  that 
which  is  agreeable,  where  both  cannot  be  obtained.  .  .  . 

1  am  not  so  unhappily  perverse  as  to  study  to  be  hated, 
where  no  good  purpose  can  be  answered  by  it ;  but  it  is 
my  opinion  that  every  honest  speaker  should  prefer  the 
interest  of  the  state  to  the  favor  of  his  hearers.  This  (I 
^am  assured,  and  perhaps  you  need  not  be  informed)  was 
the  principle  that  actuated  the  public  conduct  of  those  of 
our  ancestors  who  spoke  in  this  assembly, — men  whom  the 
present  set  of  orators  are  ever  ready  to  applaud,  but  whose 
example  they  by  no  means  imitate :  such  were  Aristides, 
Nicias,  the  former  Demosthenes,  and  Pericles.  But  since, 
we  have  had  speakers  who,  before  their  public  appearance, 
ask  you,  What  do  you  desire  ?  what  shall  I  propose  ?  how 
can  I  oblige  you  ?  The  interest  of  our  country  has  been 
sacrificed  to  momentary  pleasure  and  popular  favor.  Thus 
have  we  been  distressed ;  thus  have  these  men  risen  to 
greatness,  and  you  sunk  into  disgrace. 

And  here  let  me  entreat  your  attention  to  a  summary 
account  of  the  conduct  of  your  ancestors,  and  of  your  own. 
I  shall  mention  but  a  few  things,  and  those  well  known : 
for  if  you  would  pursue  the  way  to  happiness,  you  need 
not  look  abroad  for  leaders ;  our  own  countrymen  point 
it  out.  These  our  ancestors,  therefore,  whom  the  orators 
never  courted,  never  treated  with  that  indulgence  with 
which  you  are  flattered,  held  the  sovereignty  of  Greece, 
with  general  consent,  five-and-forty  years  ;  deposited  above 
ten  thousand  talents  in  our  public  treasury ;  kej)t  the  king 
of  this  country  in  that  subjection  which  a  barbarian  owes 
to  Greeks;   erected  monuments  of  many  and   illustrious 


Demosthenes]  THE  SECOND  OLYNTHIAC  ORATION.       113 

actions,  which  they  themselves  achieved  by  land  and  sea ; 
in  a  word,  are  the  only  persons  who  have  transmitted  to 
posterity  such  glory  as  is  superior  to  envy.  Thus  great  do 
they  appear  in  the  affairs  of  Greece.  Let  us  now  view 
them  within  the  city,  both  in  their  public  and  private  con- 
duct. And,  first,  the  edifices  which  their  administrations 
have  given  us,  their  decorations  of  our  temj)les,  and  the 
offerings  dej)osited  by  them,  are  so  numerous  and  so  mag- 
nificent that  all  the  efforts  of  posterity  cannot  exceed 
them.  Then,  in  private  life,  so  exemplary  was  their  mod- 
eration, their  adherence  to  the  ancient  manners  so  scrupu- 
lou.sly  exact,  that  if  any  of  you  ever  discovered  the  house 
of  Aristides,  or  Miltiades,  or  any  of  the  illustrious  men  of 
those  times,  he  must  know  that  it  was  not  distinguished  by 
the  least  extraordinary  splendor ;  for  they  did  not  so  con- 
duct the  public  business  as  to  aggrandize  themselves  ;  their 
sole  great  object  was  to  exalt  the  state.  And  thus,  by  their 
faithful  attachment  to  Greece,  by  their  piety  to  the  gods, 
and  by  that  equality  which  they  maintained  among  them- 
selves, they  were  raised — and  no  wonder — to  the  summit  of 
prosperity. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Athens  at  that  time,  when  the  men 
I  have  mentioned  were  in  power.  But  what  is  your  con- 
dition under  those  indulgent  ministers  who  now  direct  us? 
Is  it  the  same,  or  nearly  the  same  ?  Other  things  I  shall 
pass  over,  though  I  might  expatiate  on  them.  Let  it  only 
be  observed  tUat  we  are  now,  as  you  all  see,  left  without 
competitors ;  the  Laeeda3monians  lost ;  the  Thebans  en- 
gaged at  home ;  and  not  one  of  all  the  other  states  of 
consequence  sufficient  to  dispute  the  sovereignty  with  us. 
Yet,  at  a  time  when  we  might  have  enjoyed  our  own  do- 
minions in  security,  and  been  the  umpires  in  all  disputes 
abroad,  our  territories  have  been  wrested  from  us ;  we 
have  expended  above  one  thousand  five  hundred  talents  to 
1.— A  10* 


114  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Dkmosthenes 

no  purpose ;  the  allies  which  we  gained  in  war  have  been 
lost  in  time  of  peace ;  and  to  this  degree  of  power  have 
we  raised  an  enemy  against  ourselves.  For  let  the  man 
stand  forth  and  show  where  Philip  has  derived  his  great- 
ness, if  not  from  us ! 

"  Well,  if  these  affairs  have  but  an  unfavorable  asjject,  yet 
those  within  the  city  are  much  more  flourishing  than  ever." 
Where  are  the  proofs  of  this  ?  The  walls  that  have  been 
whitened?  the  ways  we  have  repaired?  the  supplies  of 
water  ?  and  su.ch  trifles  ?  Turn  your  eyes  to  the  men  of 
whose  administrations  these  are  the  fruits ;  some  of  whom 
from  the  lowest  state  of  poverty  have  arisen  sviddenly  to 
affluence;  some  from  meanness  to  renown;  others  have 
made  their  own  private  houses  much  more  magnificent 
than  the  public  edifices.  Just  as  the  state  has  fallen,  their 
private  fortunes  have  been  raised. 

And  what  cause  can  we  assign  for  this  ?  How  is  it  that 
our  affairs  were  once  so  flourishing  and  are  now  in  such 
disorder  ?  Because  formerly  the  people  dared  to  take  up 
arms  themselves;  were  themselves  masters  of  those  in 
employment,  disposers  themselves  of  all  emoluments;  so 
that  every  citizen  thought  himself  happy  to  derive  honors 
and  authority,  and  all  advantages  whatever,  from  the  peo- 
ple. But  now,  on  the  contrary,  favors  are  all  dispensed, 
aff'airs  all  transacted,  by  the  ministers ;  while  you,  quite 
enervated,  robbed  of  your  i"iches,  your  allies,  stand  in  the 
mean  rank  of  servants  and  assistants  ;  happy  if  these  men 
grant  you  the  theatrical  appointments  and  send  you  scraps 
of  the  public  meal.  And,  what  is  of  all  most  sordid,  you 
hold  yourself  obliged  to  them  for  that  which  is  your  own ; 
while  they  confine  you  within  these  walls,  lead  you  on 
gently  to  their  purposes,  and  soothe  and  tame  you  to  obe- 
dience. ISTor  is  it  j)ossible  that  they  who  are  engaged  in 
low  and  grovelling  pursuits  can  entertain  great  and  gener- 


Demosthenes]   THE  SECOND  OLFNTHIAC  ORATION.       115 

ous  sentiments.  No !  Such  as  their  employments  tire,  so 
must  their  dispositions  prove.  And  now,  I  call  heaven 
to  witness  that  it  will  not  surprise  me  if  I  suffer  more  by 
mentioning  this  your  condition,  than  they  who  have  in- 
volved you  in  it !  Freedom  of  speech  you  do  not  allow  on 
all  occasions ;  and  that  you  have  now  admitted  it  excites 
my  wonder. 

But  if  you  will  at  length  be  prevailed  on  to  change  your 
conduct ;  if  you  will  take  the  field  and  act  worthy  of 
Athenians;  if  these  redundant  sums  which  you  receive 
at  home  be  applied  to  the  advancement  of  your  affairs 
abroad;  perhaps,  my  countrymen,  perhaps  some  instance 
of  consummate  good  fortune  may  attend  you,  and  you 
may  become  so  happy  as  to  despise  those  pittances,  which 
are  like  the  morsels  a  physician  allows  his  patient;  for 
these  do  not  restore  his  vigor,  but  just  keep  him  from 
dying.  So,  your  distributions  cannot  serve  any  valuable 
purpose,  but  are  just  sufficient  to  divert  your  attention  from 
all  other  things,  and  thus  increase  the  indolence  of  every 
one  among  you. 

But  I  shall  be  asked,  What  then  ?  is  it  your  opinion  that 
these  sums  should  pay  our  array  ?  And,  besides  this,  that 
the  state  should  be  regulated  in  such  a  manner  that  every 
one  may  have  his  share  of  public  business,  and  aj^prove 
himself  a  useful  citizen,  on  what  occasion  soever  his  aid 
may  be  required?  Is  it  in  his  power  to  live  in  peace ?  He 
will  live  here  with  greater  dignity,  while  these  supplies 
prevent  him  from  being  temj)ted  by  indulgence  to  any- 
thing dishonorable.  Is  he  called  forth  by  an  emergency 
like  the  present?  Let  him  discharge  that  sacred  duty 
which  he  owes  to  his  countrj^,  by  applying  those  sums  to 
his  support  in  the  field.  Is  there  a  man  among  you  past 
the  age  of  service?  Let  him,  by  inspecting  and  conduct- 
ing the  public  business,  regularly  merit  his  share  of  the 


116  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

distributions  which  he  now  receives  without  any  duty 
enjoined  or  any  return  made  to  the  community.  And 
thus,  with  scarcely  any  altei'ation,  either  of  abolishing  or 
innovating,  all  irregularities  are  removed,  and  the  state 
completely  settled,  by  appointing  one  general  regulation, 
which  shall  entitle  our  citizens  to  receive,  and  at  the  same 
time  oblige  them  to  take  arms,  to  administer  justice,  to  act 
in  all  cases  as  their  time  of  life  and  our  affairs  require. 
But  it  never  has  nor  could  it  have  been  moved  by  me  that 
the  rewards  of  the  diligent  and  active  should  be  bestowed 
on  the  useless  citizen ;  or  that  you  should  sit  here,  supine, 
languid,  and  irresolute,  listening  to  the  exploits  of  some 
general's  foreign  troops, — for  thus  it  is  at  present.  Not 
that  I  would  reflect  on  him  that  serves  you,  in  any  instance. 
But  you  yourselves,  Athenians,  should  perform  those  ser- 
vices for  which  you  heap  honors  on  others,  and  not  recede 
from  that  illustrious  rank  of  virtue,  the  price  of  all  the 
glorious  toils  of  your  ancestors,  and  by  them  bequeathed 
to  you. 

Thus  have  I  laid  before  you  the  chief  points  in  which  1 
think  you  interested.  It  is  your  part  to  embrace  that 
opinion  which  the  welfare  of  the  state  in  general,  and  that 
of  every  single  member,  recommends  to  your  acceptance. 

Leland. 


THE  DEATH  OF  PATROCLUS. 

HOMER. 

[As  to  the  personalitj'  and  history  of  Homer  we  know  nothing.  His 
era  is  usually  supposed  to  be  about  850  or  900  B.C.,  but  no  exactitude 
can  be  given  it.  The  legends  concerning  him,  and  the  story  of  his 
life  attributed  to  Herodotus,  are  believed  to  have  no  value  whatever, 
and  the  idea  that  he  was  blind  has  nothing  to  support  it.      All  we 


Homer]  THE  DEATH  OF  PATROCLUS.  117 

know  of  him  is  that  he  was  one  of  the  suhlimest  of  the  world's  singers, 
and  that  his  nanae  is  attached  to  an  epic  poem  which  for  spontaneity, 
beauty  of  diction,  and  grandeur  of  conception  has  no  superior,  if  any 
equal,  upon  the  earth. 

The  subject  of  the  "Iliad"  is  happily  chosen.  The  traditional  ten 
years'  siege  of  Troy  was  the  most  stirring  of  the  legendary  tales  of  the 
ancient  Greeks,  while  among  its  actors  were  many  of  the  most  inter- 
esting of  the  Hellenic  heroes.  The  abundant  material  at  his  sei-vice 
Homer  has  handled  with  striking  abilitj^.  The  finest  episodes  of  the 
long-drawn-out  war  are  condensed  by  him  into  a  brief  period,  that  of 
the  anger  of  Achilles.  But  this  limited  era  of  action  is  full  of  life  and 
movement,  and  the  story  is  told  with  such  torrent-like  rush  of  inci- 
dent, beauty  of  language,  coiTectness  of  simile,  dramatic  truth  of 
characterization,  and  height  of  poetic  fervor,  as  to  raise  the  poem  to 
the  loftiest  place  among  the  imaginative  productions  of  mankind.  The 
other  work  ascribed  to  Homer,  the  "  Odyssey,"  is  a  more  quiet  and  less 
exalted  and  artistic  production. 

Numerous  translators  have  tried  their  hands  at  rendering  Homer 
into  English,  from  the  quaint  yet  worthy  effort  of  old  Chapman  down 
to  the  scholarly  production  of  our  own  Bryant.  In  the  best  of  them 
much  of  the  flavor  of  the  original  Greek  escapes,  while  the  worst  of 
them  very  poorly  reproduce  the  Homeric  diction.  The  best  known  to 
readers  generally  is  that  of  Pope,  a  work  of  much  merit  in  itself,  but 
very  unlike  Homer's  verse.  Few  efforts  have  been  made  to  translate 
the  "Iliad"  into  the  hexametric  metre  of  the  original.  Chapman's 
version  is  in  this  metre,  and  a  later  one  is  that  of  Mr.  Dart.  The 
translation  of  the  latter,  though  not  highly  successful,  is  of  value  as 
reproducing  something  of  the  majestic  roll  of  the  original  verse,  and 
we  extract  from  it  the  story  of  the  death  of  Patroclus,  who,  clad  in  the 
armor  of  Ulysses,  had  gone  to  the  field  to  drive  back  the  victorious 
Trojans.  The  Greek  warrior  has  just  flung,  with  heroic  hand,  a  huge 
stone  at  the  advancing  lines  of  the  enemy.] 

The  sharp  stone  struck  on  the  temples 
Hector's  charioteer :  he  was  bastard  offspring  of  Priam, 
Son  of  the  famous  king.     For,  while  he  was  holding  the 

bright  reins, 
Full  on  the  top  of  his  head  came  the  huge  stone,  smashing 

the  eyebrows, 


118  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

Crushing  the  solid  skull ;  and  the  eyeballs,  forced  .from  the 

sockets, 
Fell  in  the  dust  at  his  feet;  while  himself,  as  plunges  a 

diver, 
Plunged  to  the  earth  from  the  car,  and  the  fierce  soul  fled 

from  the  carcass. 
Loud,  as  he  marked  the  act,  thus  scolfingly  shouted  Pa- 

troclus : 

"  Gods !  what  a  nimble  man !  How  easy  that  shoot  from 
the  chariot! 

Did  he  but  happen  to  live  by  the  ocean,  where  fish  are 
abounding, 

Many  a  mouth,  through  him,  might  be  satisfied,  diving  for 
oysters ; 

Even  in  times  of  storm  from  his  boat-side  taking  his 
headers : 

Easy  enough  for  one  who  on  land  thus  dives  from  his  war- 
steeds. 

Who  would  have  thought  such  tumblers  had  e'er  been 
found  'mid  the  Trojans  ?" 

Thus  did  Patroelus  speak — then  rushed  on  the  corpse  to 

despoil  it. 
Like  the  tremendous  rush  of  a  lion  first  clearing  the  fold- 
yards, 
Then,  with  a  wound  on  his  breast,  by  his  courage  brought 

to  destruction : 
Thus  on  Cebriones  dead  did  Patroelus  rush  to  despoil  him. 
While  on  the  opposite  side  leaped  Hector  to  earth  from  his 

war-steeds. 
As  on  a  mountain-peak  two  lions,  roai'ing  defiance 
Over  a  slaughtered  stag,  all  raving  and  savage  with  hunger, 
Wage  unrelenting  war  for  the  coveted  prize  of  the  carcass, 


Homer]  THE  DEATH  OF  PATROCLUS.  119 

So  for  Cebriones  slain  did  these  two  lords  of  the  battle, 
Hector,  mighty  in  war,  and  Patroelus,  son  of  Menoetius, 
Aim  at  each  other's  breasts  with  the  points  of  their  mur- 
derous weapons. 
Hector  held   by  the   head   to   his  brother's   corpse,  and 

retained  it ; 
"While  on  the  dead  man's  foot  did  Patroelus  seize;  and 

around  them 
Deepened  the  roar  of  fight  of  the  Trojan  troops  and  the 

Argives. 
As  with   opposing  blasts,  when   the  fury  of  Eurus  and 

JSTotus 
Falls  upon  some  dense  wood,  in  a  glen  deep  down  on  a 

hill-side, 
Beech  or  tough-grained  ash,  or  the  long-leaved  boughs  of 

the  cornel. 
And,  as  the  blast  drives  over,  the  tall  trees  mingle  their 

branches, 
Easping  and  grating  together,  or  breaking,  perchance,  with 

a  great  crash, 
So,   with   an    equal   din,    did    the    armies   of   Troy    and 

Achaia 
Seek  each  other's  breasts,  and  fear  was  forgotten  among 

them. 
Over  Cebriones'  corpse  was  the  clash  and  the  crashing  of 

lances, 
"Whizzing  of  arrow-shafts,  that  bounded  in  wrath  from  the 

bow-strings. 
Clanging  of  ponderous  stones,  that  bruised  and  battered 

the  bucklers 
Of  those  fighting  around  him.     He,  mighty,  and  mightily 

stretched  out. 
Heedless  of  reins  and  steeds,  slept  sound  'mid  the  storm  of 

the  battle. 


120  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

All  such  time  as  the  sun  stands  high  on  his  path  'mid  the 

heavens 
Falls  on  each  army  the  storm  of  the  darts,  and  slain  are 

the  people. 
But,  when  the  sun  stands  low,  and  releases  the  laboring 

oxen, 
Then,  despite  of  fate,  had  Achaia  the  best  in  the  struggle. 
Dragging  Cebriones  off  from  the  spears,  in  the  face  of  the 

uproar 
Made  by  Troy's  foiled  host,  they  strip  from  his  shoulders 

the  armor. 
Then  on  his  foes  once  more,  in  his  wild  wrath,  hurtles 

Patroclus : 
Three   times,  dreadful   as  Ares,  with  terrible  shouts,  he 

assails  them. 
Charging  them  home.     Three  times,  nine  warriors  perish 

before  him ; 
But  when,  great  as  a  god,  he  a  fourth  time  charges  the 

phalanx. 
This,   of   thy    narrow    life,   is    the    finishing    effort,    Pa- 
troclus ! 
For,  through  the  midst  of  the  fray,  to  assail  thee,  Phoebus 

Apollo 
Moves — an  unequal  opponent.      Patroclus  never  discerns 

him. 
Since  in  a  pile  of  cloud  is  the  deity  veiled  and  enshrouded. 
Standing  in  rear  of  the  chief,  on  his  back,  'mid  his  shoul- 
ders, the  great  god 
Strikes  with  ponderous  hand.    Swim  dizzy  the  eyes  of  the 

hero, 
Flies  from  his  temples  the  helm,  at  the  buffet  of  Phoebus 

Apollo ; 
Far,  with  a  crash,  to  the  earth,  far  away,  'mid  the  hoofs  of 

the  war-steeds 


HoMKR]  THE  DEATH  OF  PATROCLUS.  121 

Rolls  that  crested  helm ;  those  bright  plumes  waving  above  it 
Draggle  in  blood  and  dust.     They  have  never  been  wont 

to  be  soiled  so, 
Never  before  have  dust  and  that  proud   helm  been  ac- 
quainted, 
Used,  as  it  is,  to  protect  in  the  fight  the  high  face  of  a  hero. 
Even  Achilleus'  self.     Now  Zeus  upon  Hector  bestows  it. 
Gives  it  to  him  for  a  while,  as  he  stands  on  the  brink  of 

destruction : 
All,  in  Patroclus'   hand,  does  the   huge   spear  shiver  to 

splinters, 
Stalwart,  brass-headed  beam  as  it  is;    and,  afar  from  his 

shoulders, 
Shield  of  ample  orb  to  the  earth  comes  down,  with  the 

shield-belt ; 
And  from  his  gallant  breast  is  the  corselet  loosed  by  Apollo. 
Mind  and  senses  bewildered,  his  limbs  unnerved  by  the 

buffet, 
Stupid,  aghast  he  remained.     As  he  stood  he  was  struck 

by  a  Dardan 
Eight  'mid  his  shoulder-blades,  with  a  spear  from  behind 

by  Euphorbus, 
Panthous'  gallant  son,  who  headed  the  youths  of  his  own 

age. 
Both  in  the  use  of  the  spear,  and  in  driving  of  steeds,  and 

the  foot-race ; 
Twenty  the  chiefs  at  least  he  had  tumbled  to  earth  from 

their  war-steeds, 
When  with  his  car  and  horses  he  first  took  lessons  in 

battle. 
This  man  thus  with  his  spear  first  wounded  the  back  of 

Patroclus — 
Nor  with  a  fatal  wound ;  and  at  once  from  the  flesh  of  the 

hero 

I.— F  11 


122  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

Tearing  the  spear,  lie  retreated  again  to  his  friends,  nor 

adventured 
There  to  abide  such  a  foe,  though  unarmed,  in  the  perilous 

death-gripe. 
He,  by  the  blow  of  the  god  and  the  spear-stroke  stunned 

and  enfeebled. 
Shunned  approaching  fate,  and  retreated  again  to  his  com- 
rades. 
Hector  remarked  from  afar  how  Patroclus,  sorely  disabled. 
Wounded  by  hostile  steel,  and  his  great  soul  cowed,  was 

retreating 
Back  to  the  Argive  host ;  so,  cleaving  the  ranks,  overtook 

him. 
Plunging  the  levelled  spear  through  his  groin,  right  out  on 

the  far  side. 
Thundering  he  fell  to  the  earth.     Loud,  deep,  was  the  wail 

of  Achaia. 
Just  as  a  stubborn  boar  is  o'ermastered  in  fight  by  a  lion. 
When  on  a  mountain-peak  they  have  wrangled  in  terrible 

combat 
Round  some  half-dried  spring,  which  both  have  been  eager 

to  drink  of. 
Until  the  lion's  might  has  mastered  his  snorting  opponent : 
Thus,  having  overthrown  many  foes,  the  son  of  Menoetius 
Yielded  at  length  his  own  strong  soul  to  the  weaj)on  of 

Hector, 
Who  to  his  fallen  foe  thus  vauntingly  spoke  and  addressed 

him : 

"Where  is  the    boastful   hope   thou'st  ventured  to  utter, 

Patroclus, 
Speaking  of  Troy's  wall  stormed,  and  her  proud  dames 

carried  as  captives 
Off  in  Achaia's  barks,  far  away  to  the  land  of  thy  fathers? 


Homer]  THE   DEATH  OF  PATEOCLUS.  123 

Fool  I  those  dames  and  wall  had  protectors  ready  to  guard 

them ; 
Hector  and  his  swift  steeds — steeds  eager  for  war — and 

their  master, 
First  among  Troy's  fierce  sons  in  the  use  of  the  spear ;  a 

defender 
Fitter  to  ward  off  fate.     But  thou  shalt  be  prey  to  the 

vultures. 
Wretch!  all  brave  as  he  is,  not  a  jot  has  availed  thee 

Achilleus ; 
He  but  urged  thee  to  death,  for  he  charged  thee,  methinks, 

when  departing. 
Thus :  '  To  the  hollow  ships  do  not  come  again,  knightly 

Patroclus ! 
Seek  not  again  this  face  ere  thou  tear  from  the  bosom  of 

Hector 
Corselet  and  blood-stained  vest,  and  bear  them  as  trophies 

before  thee.' 
Such  were,  perchance,  his  words ;   and   thou,  poor   fool ! 

wert  the  victim." 

Then,   with  his   failing  breath,  thus   ansAvered   knightly 

Patroclus : 
"  It  is  thy  season  to  boast,  and  thou  boastest  enough.    But 

thy  conquest 
Comes  from  Zeus  himself,  and  from  Phoebus — they  have 

subdued  me 
Easily,  as  gods  could ;  themselves  disarming  my  shoulders. 
If  twice  ten  such  as  thou  had  encountered  me  fairly  in 

battle. 
All  had  sunk  in  fight,  and  had  bowed  to  the  brunt  of  my 

lance-point. 
Fate   overthrew  me  the  first :    it  is  Leto's  son  who  has 

slain  me ; 


124  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

Then  came  of  men  Euphorbus,  and  thou  standest  third  in 

the  death-work. 
But  take  heed  to  my  words,  and  ponder  them  well  as  I 

sjjeak  them : 
Know  that  thyself,  proud  man,  art  doomed  not  long  to 

survive  me. 
Death  and  relentless  fate  are  standing  already  beside  thee. 
Doomed,  ere  long,  to  be  slain  by  the  hands  of  the  noble 

Achilleus." 

Thus,  as  he  spake,  came  death  with  its  dark  shade  gloomily 

o'er  him, 
Flitted  the  naked  soul  from  the  beautiful  body  to  Hades, 
Wailing  its  hapless  fate,  and  the  vigor  and  youth  it  aban- 
doned. 

[To  this  stirring  war-scene,  with  tlie  barbarous  boasting  of  its  heroes, 
we  may  add  what  is  usually  accepted  as  the  most  beautiful  passage  of 
the  "  Iliad,"  that  in  which  Hector  bids  adieu  to  his  wife  and  child  before 
proceediiig  to  the  field  of  battle.  Tlie  version  is  from  what  is  ordinarily 
known  as  "Pope's  Homer's  Iliad."  Our  selection  opens  with  the  ap- 
peal of  Andromache  to  her  warrior  husband.] 

Too  daring  prince !     Ah !  whither  dost  thou  run  ? 
Oh !  so  forgetful  of  thy  wife  and  son  ! 
And  thinkest  thou  not  how  wretched  we  shall  be, 
A  widow  I,  a  helpless  orphan  he  ? 
For  sure  such  courage  length  of  life  denies ; 
And  thou  must  fall,  thy  virtue's  sacrifice. 
Greece  in  her  single  heroes  strove  in  vain ; 
Now  hosts  oppose  thee,  and  thou  must  be  slain. 
Oh,  grant  me,  gods !  ere  Hector  meets  his  doom. 
All  I  can  ask  of  heaven,  an  early  tomb ! 
So  shall  my  days  in  one  sad  tenor  run, 
And  end  with  sorrows  as  they  first  begun. 


I 

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Homkk]  hector  and  ANDROMACHE.  125 

No  parent  now  remains  my  grief  to  share, 
No  father's  aid,  no  mother's  tender  care. 
The  fierce  Achilles  wrapped  our  walls  in  fire ; 
Laid  Thebe  waste,  and  slew  my  royal  sire !  .  .  . 
By  the  same  arm  my  seven  brave  brothers  fell, 
In  one  sad  day  beheld  the  gates  of  hell.  .  .  . 
My  mother  lived  to  bear  the  victor's  bands, 
The  queen  of  Hippoplacia's  sylvan  lands.  .  .  . 
Yet  while  my  Hector  still  survives,  I  see 
My  father,  mother,  brethren,  all  in  thee. 
Alas !  my  parents,  brothers,  kindred,  all 
Once  more  will  perish  if  my  Hector  fall. 
Thy  wife,  thy  infant,  in  thy  danger  share : 
Oh,  prove  a  husband's  and  a  fathei-'s  care ! 
That  quarter  most  the  skilful  Greeks  annoy 
Where  yon  wild  fig-trees  join  the  walls  of  Troy. 
Thou  from  this  tower  defend  th'  important  post. 
There  Agamemnon  points  his  dreadful  host. 
That  pass  Tydides,  Ajax,  strive  to  gain  ; 
And  there  the  vengeful  Spartan  fires  his  train. 
Thrice  our  bold  foes  the  fierce  attack  have  given, 
Or  led  by  hopes,  or  dictated  from  heaven. 
Let  others  in  the  field  their  arms  employ ; 
But  stay  my  Hector  here,  and  guard  his  Troy. 

The  chief  replied  :  That  post  shall  be  my  care, 
Nor  that  alone,  but  all  the  works  of  war. 
How  would  the  sons  of  Troy,  in  arms  renowned, 
And  Troy's  proud  dames,  whose  garments  sweep  the  ground, 
Attaint  the  lustre  of  my  former  name, 
Should  Hector  basely  quit  the  field  of  famej 
My  early  youth  was  bred  to  martial  pains. 
My  soul  impels  me  to  th'  embattled  plains. 
Let  me  be  foremost  to  defend  the  throne, 
And  guard  my  father's  glory  and  my  own. 
I.  11* 


126  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

Yet  come  it  will,  the  day  decreed  by  fates, 

(How  my  heart  trembles,  wliile  my  tongue  relates !) 

The  day  when  thou,  imperial  Troy !  must  bend, 

And  see  thy  warriors  fall,  thy  glories  end. 

And  yet  no  dire  presage  so  wounds  my  mind, 

My  mother's  death,  the  ruin  of  my  kind, 

Not  Priam's  hoary  hairs  defiled  with  gore, 

Nor  all  my  brothers  gasping  on  the  shore. 

As  thine,  Andromache !  thy  griefs  I  dread. 

I  see  thee  trembling,  weeping,  captive  led, 

In  Argive  looms  our  battles  to  design. 

And  woes  of  which  so  large  a  part  was  thine.  .  .  . 

May  I  lie  cold,  before  that  dreadful  da}'', 

Pressed  with  a  load  of  monumental  clay! 

Thy  Hector,  wrapped  in  everlasting  sleep, 

Shall  neither  hear  thee  sigh,  nor  see  thee  weep. 

Thus  having  spoke,  th'  illustrious  chief  of  Troy 
Stretched  his  fond  arms  to  clasp  the  lovely  boy. 
The  babe  clung  crying  to  his  nurse's  breast, 
Scared  at  the  dazzling  helm  and  nodding  crest. 
With  secret  pleasure  each  fond  2:)arent  smiled, 
And  Hector  hastened  to  relieve  his  child  ; 
The  glittering  terrors  from  his  brows  unbound, 
And  placed  the  beaming  helmet  on  the  ground : 
Then  kissed  the  child,  and,  lifting  high  in  air. 
Thus  to  the  gods  preferred  a  father's  prayer : 

0  thou!  whose  glory  fills  th'  ethereal  throne. 
And  all  ye  deathless  powers !  protect  my  son ! 
Grant  him,  like  me,  to  purchase  just  reno"vyn. 
To  guard  the  Trojans,  to  defend  the  crown  ; 
Against  his  country's  foes  the  war  to  wage, 
And  rise,  the  Hector  of  the  future  age ! 
So  when,  triumphant  from  successful  toils. 
Of  heroes  slain  he  bears  the  reeking  spoils, 


Homer]  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE.  127 

Whole  hosts  may  hail  him  with  deserved  acclaim, 
And  say,  This  chief  transcends  his  father's  fame : 
"While,  pleased  amidst  the  general  shouts  of  Troy, 
His  mother's  conscious  heart  o'erflows  with  joy. 

He  spoke,  and,  fondly  gazing  on  her  charms, 
Eestored  the  pleasing  burden  to  her  arms. 
Soft  on  her  fragrant  breast  the  babe  she  laid, 
Hushed  to  rej)Ose,  and  with  a  smile  surveyed. 
The  troubled  pleasure  soon  chastised  by  fear, 
She  mingled  with  the  smile  a  tender  tear. 
The  softened  chief  with  kind  compassion  viewed. 
And  dried  the  falling  drops,  and  thus  pursued : 

Andromache  !  my  soul's  far  better  part ! 
Why  with  untimely  sorrows  heaves  thy  heart  ? 
No  hostile  hand  can  antedate  my  doom, 
Till  fate  consigns  me  to  the  silent  tomb. 
Fixed  is  the  term  to  all  the  race  of  earth ; 
And  such  the  hard  condition  of  our  birth. 
1^0  force  can  then  resist,  no  flight  can  save ; 
All  sink  alike,  the  fearful  and  the  brave. 
1^0  more — but  hasten  to  the  tasks  at  home ; 
There  guide  the  spindle,  and  direct  the  loom. 
Me  glory  summons  to  the  martial  scene ; 
The  field  of  combat  is  the  sphere  for  men. 
Where  heroes  war,  the  foremost  place  I  claim, 
The  first  in  danorer,  as  the  first  in  fame. 


"to" 


[There  is  one  beautiful  word-picture  with  which  this  series  of  selec- 
tions from  Homer  may  close.  The  picturesque  night-watch  of  the 
Trojans  is  so  charmingly  rendered  by  Tennyson  that  the  translation 
perhaps  surpasses  the  original  in  grace  of  language.] 

As  when  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beavitiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid. 
And  every  height  com.es  out,  and  jutting  peak, 


128  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shine,  and  the  8hej)herd  gladdens  in  his  heart ; 
So,  many  a  fire  between  the  ships  and  stream 
Of  Xanthus  blazed  before  the  towers  of  Troy, 
A  thousand  on  the  plain ;  and  close  by  each 
Sat  fifty  in  the  blaze  of  burning  fire ; 
And,  chamiDing  golden  grain,  the  horses  stood  , 
Hard  by  their  chariots,  waiting  for  the  dawn. 


MAN  IN  ANCIENT  NATURAL  HISTORY. 

PLINY   THE    ELDER. 

[C.  Plinius  Secundus,  usually  called  Pliny  the  Elder,  to  distinguish 
him  from  his  talented  nephew,  was  born  23  a.d.,  either  at  Como  or  at 
Verona.  He  was  highly  educated,  and  entered  the  army  at  twenty- 
three  years  of  age.  This  gave  him  the  opportunity  for  a  careful  obser- 
vation of  the  frontier  of  the  Gorman  region,  and  the  information  gained 
was  used  in  a  history  of  the  German  wars,  which  he  completed  in 
twenty  books.  He  afterwards  practised  at  the  bar,  and  finally  engaged 
in  authorship  in  his  native  town.  He  died  in  the  year  79,  at  Stabire, 
near  Naples,  being  suffocated  by  poisonous  vapors  during  the  first 
recorded  eruption  of  Vesuvius,  which  he  had  landed  to  observe. 

Pliny  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  erudition,  and  a  voluminous 
writer.  Of  his  numerous  works  we  possess  only  his  "  Natural  History," 
which,  however,  is  of  the  utmost  value,  advising  us,  as  it  does,  of  the 
state  of  all  the  sciences,  and  also  of  human  inventions  and  the  fine 
arts,  in  the  period  of  the  Eoman  Empire.  Scientifically  its  standing 
is  low.  It  is  not  a  work  of  original  research,  but  chiefly  a  compila- 
tion, extracted,  as  he  says,  from  about  two  thousand  volumes  of  pre- 
ceding authors.  Its  arrangement  is  confused,  and  little  discrimination 
is  shown  in  separating  the  true  from  the  false,  the  probable  from  the 
marvellous.  Indeed,  he  appears  to  have  repeated  every  story  he  found 
in  literature,  however  incredible,  with  a  credulity  that  seems  extraor- 


Pliny]     MAN  IN  ANCIENT  NATURAL  HISTORY.  129 

dinary  in  this  age  of  scientific  research.  Wc  give  a  selection  in  which 
this  credulous  spirit  is  strongly  shown.  In  style  Pliny  is  florid,  yet 
full  of  vigor  and  expressiveness.  His  meaning  is  often  ohscure,  but 
this  is  less  the  result  of  weakness  of  style  than  of  lack  of  knowledge,  or 
of  a  failure  to  understand  his  authorities  properly.  When  we  reflect 
that  the  work  is  full  of  statements  equally  unfounded  and  incredible 
with  those  given  below,  we  cannot  have  much  respect  for  the  precision 
of  ancient  scientific  observations,  or  regret  the  loss  of  the  two  thousand 
volumes  used  by  our  author.  The  imagination  seems  to  have  been  the 
ruling  intellectual  faculty  in  the  ancient  world.  The  translation  here 
used  is  that  of  Eostock  and  P^iley.] 

Our  first  attention  is  justly  due  to  Man,  for  whose  sake 
all  other  things  appear  to  have  been  produced  by  Nature ; 
though,  on  the  other  hand,  with  so  great  and  so  severe 
penalties  for  the  enjoyment  of  her  bounteous  gifts,  that  it 
is  far  from  easy  to  determine  whether  she  has  proved  to 
him  a  kind  parent  or  a  merciless  step-mother. 

In  the  first  place,  she  obliges  him  alone,  of  all  animated 
beings,  to  clothe  himself  with  the  spoils  of  the  others; 
while  to  all  the  rest  she  has  given  various  kinds  of  cover- 
ings, such  as  shells,  crusts,  spines,  hides,  furs,  bristles,  hair, 
down,  feathers,  scales,  and  fleeces.  The  very  trunks  of  the 
trees,  even,  she  has  protected  against  the  effects  of  heat 
and  cold  by  a  bark,  which  is  in  some  cases  twofold.  Man 
alone,  at  the  very  moment  of  his  birth  cast  naked  upon 
the  naked  earth,  does  she  abandon  to  cries,  to  lamentations, 
and,  a  thing  that  is  the  case  with  no  other  animal  whatever, 
to  tears :  this,  too,  from  the  very  moment  that  ho  enters 
upon  existence.  But  as  for  laughter,  why,  by  Hercules ! 
to  laugh,  if  but  for  an  instant  only,  has  never  been  granted 
to  man  before  the  fortieth  day  from  his  birth,  and  then  it 
is  looked  upon  as  a  miracle  of  precocity.  Introduced  thus 
to  the  light,  man  has  fetters  and  swathings  instantly  put 
upon  all  his  limbs,  a  thing  that  falls  to  the  lot  of  none  of 
the  brutes  even  that  are  born  among  us.  Born  to  such 
I. — i 


130  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

singular  good  fortune,  there  lies  the  animal  which  is  des- 
tined to  command  all  the  others,  fast  bound  hand  and  foot, 
and  weeping  aloud  !  such  being  the  penalty  which  he  has 
to  pay  on  beginning  life,  and  that  for  the  sole  fault  of 
having  been  born.  Alas  for  the  folly  of  those  who  can 
think,  after  such  a  beginning  as  this,  that  they  have  been 
born  for  the  display  of  vanity ! 

The  earliest  presage  of  future  strength,  the  earliest 
bounty  of  time,  confers  upon  him  naught  but  the  resem- 
blance to  a  quadruped.  How  soon  does  man  gain  the 
power  of  walking?  How  soon  does  he  gain  the  faculty 
of  speech  ?  How  soon  is  his  mouth  fitted  for  mastication  ? 
How  long  are  the  pulsations  of  the  crown  of  his  head  to 
proclaim  him  the  weakest  of  all  animated  beings  ?  And 
then  the  diseases  to  which  he  is  subject,  the  numerous 
remedies  which  he  is  obliged  to  devise  against  his  maladies, 
and  those  thwarted  every  now  and  then  by  new  forms  and 
features  of  disease.  While  other  animals  have  an  instinc- 
tive knowledge  of  their  natural  powers, — some,  of  their 
swiftness  of  pace,  some,  of  their  rapidity  of  flight,  and 
some,  again,  of  their  jDOwer  of  swimming, — man  is  the  only 
one  that  knows  nothing,  that  can  learn  nothing  without 
being  taught ;  he  can  neither  speak,  nor  walk,  nor  eat,  and, 
in  short,  he  can  do  nothing,  at  the  prompting  of  nature 
only,  but  weep.  For  this  it  is  that  many  have  been  of 
oj)inion  that  it  were  better  not  to  have  been  born,  or,  if 
born,  to  have  been  annihilated  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment. 

To  man  alone,  of  all  animated  beings,  has  it  been  given 
to  grieve ;  to  him  alone  to  be  guilty  of  luxury  and  excess, 
and  that  in  modes  innumerable,  and  in  every  part  of  his 
body.  Man  is  the  only  being  that  is  a  prey  to  ambition, 
to  avarice,  to  an  immoderate  desire  of  life,  to  superstition ; 
he  is  the  only  one  that  troubles  himself  about  his  burial. 


Pliny]     MAN  IN  ANCIENT  NATURAL   HISTORY.  131 

and  even  what  is  to  become  of  liim  after  death,  ^y  none 
is  life  held  on  a  tenure  more  frail ;  none  are  more  influenced 
by  unbridled  desires  for  all  things ;  none  are  sensible  of 
fears  more  bewildering ;  none  are  actuated  by  rage  more 
frantic  and  violent.  Other  animals,  in  fine,  live  at  peace 
with  those  of  their  own  kind ;  we  only  see  them  unite  to 
make  a  stand  against  those  of  a  different  species.  The 
fierceness  of  the  lion  is  not  expended  in  fighting  with  its 
own  kind;  the  sting  of  the  serpent  is  not  aimed  at  the 
serpent,  and  monsters  of  the  sea  even,  and  the  fishes,  vent 
their  rage  only  on  those  of  a  different  species.  But  with 
man,  by  Hercules !  most  of  his  misfortunes  are  occasioned 
by  man. 

[After  some  further  preliminary  observations,  Pliny  proceeds  to  make 
certain  marvellous  statements,  in  the  truth  of  which  he  seems  to  have 
believed  implicitly.] 

We  have  already  stated  that  there  are  certain  tribes  of 
the  Scythians,  and,  indeed,  many  other  nations,  which  feed 
upon  human  flesh.  This  fact  itself  might  perhaps  appear 
incredible,  did  we  not  recollect  that  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  earth,  in  Italy  and  Sicily,  nations  formerly  existed  with 
these  monstrous  propensities,  the  Cyclopes,  and  the  Lses- 
trygones,  for  example,  and  that  very  recently  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Alps  it  was  the  custom  to  offer  human 
sacrifices,  after  the  manner  of  those  nations ;  and  the  dif- 
ference is  but  small  between  sacrificing  human  beings  and 
eating  them. 

In  the  vicinity  also  of  those  who  dwell  in  the  northern 
regions,  and  not  far  from  the  spot  from  which  the  north 
wind  arises  and  the  place  which  is  called  its  cave  and  is 
known  by  the  name  of  Greskleithron,  the  Arimaspi  are 
said  to  exist,  whom  I  have  previously  mentioned,  a  nation 
remarkable  for  having  but  one  eye,  and  that  placed  in  the 


132  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

middle  of  the  forehead.  This  race  is  said  to  carry  on  a 
perpetual  warfare  with  the  GrrifRns,  a  kind  of  monster 
with  wings,  as  they  are  commonly  represented,  for  the 
gold  which  they  dig  out  of  the  mines,  and  which  these 
wild  beasts  retain  and  keep  watch  over  with  a  singular 
degree  of  cupidity,  while  the  Arimaspi  are  equally  desirous 
to  get  possession  of  it.  Many  authors  have  stated  to  this 
effect,  among  the  most  illustrious  of  whom  are  Herodotus 
and  Aristeas  of  Proconnesus. 

Beyond  the  other  Scythian  anthi'opophagi,  there  is  a 
country  called  Abarimon,  situate  in  a  certain  great  valley 
of  Mount  Imaus,  the  inhabitants  of  which  are  a  savage 
race,  whose  feet  are  turned  backwards,  relatively  to  their 
legs :  they  possess  wonderful  velocity,  and  wander  about 
indiscriminately  with  the  wild  beasts.  We  learn  from 
Beeton,  whose  duty  it  was  to  take  the  measurement  of  the 
routes  of  Alexander  the  Great,  that  this  people  cannot 
breathe  in  any  climate  except  their  own,  for  which  reason 
it  is  impossible  to  take  them  before  any  of  the  neighboring 
kings  ;  nor  could  any  of  them  be  brought  before  Alexander 
himself.  .  .  . 

Crates  of  Pergamus  relates  that  there  formerly  existed 
in  the  vicinity  of  Parium,  in  the  Hellespont,  a  race  of  men 
whom  he  calls  Ophiogenes,  and  that  by  their  touch  they 
were  able  to  cui'e  those  who  had  been  stung  by  serpents, 
extracting  the  poison  by  the  mere  imposition  of  the  hand, 
Varro  tells  us  that  there  are  still  a  few  individuals  in  that 
district  whose  saliva  effectually  cures  the  stings  of  ser- 
pents. The  same,  too,  was  the  case  with  the  tribe  of  the 
Psylli,  in  Africa,  according  to  the  account  of  Agatharchi- 
des.  In  the  bodies  of  these  people  there  was  by  nature  a 
certain  kind  of  poison  which  was  fatal  to  serpents,  and 
the  odor  of  which  overpowered  them  with  torpor:  with 
them  it  was  a  custom  to  expose  children  immediately  after 


Pl£Ny]     man  in  ancient  NATURAL  HISTORY.  133 

their  birth  to  the  fiercest  serpents,  and  in  this  manner  to 
make  proof  of  the  fidelity  of  their  wives,  the  serpents  not 
bein^  repelled  by  such  children  as  were  the  offspring  of 
adultery.  .  .  .  But  the  fact  is  that  all  men  possess  in  their 
bodies  a  poison  which  acts  upon  serpents,  and  the  human 
saliva,  it  is  said,  makes  them  take  to  flight,  as  though  they 
had  been  touched  with  boiling  water.  The  same  substance, 
it  is  said,  destroys  them  the  moment  it  enters  their  throat, 
and  more  particularly  so  if  it  should  happen  to  be  the 
saliva  of  a  man  who  is  fasting.  .  .  . 

Some  individuals,  again,  are  born  with  certain  parts  of 
the  body  endowed  with  properties  of  a  marvellous  nature. 
Such  was  the  case  with  King  Pyrrhus,  the  great  toe  of 
whose  right  foot  cured  diseases  of  the  spleen  merely  by 
touching  the  patient.  We  are  also  informed  that  this  toe 
could  not  be  reduced  to  ashes  together  with  the  other 
portions  of  his  body ;  upon  which  it  was  placed  in  a  coffer 
and  preserved  in  a  temple. 

India,  and  the  region  of  ^Ethiopia  more  especially, 
abounds  in  wonders.  In  India  the  largest  of  animals 
are  produced;  their  dogs,  for  example,  are  much  bigger 
than  those  of  any  other  country.  The  trees,  too,  are  said 
to  be  of  such  vast  height  that  it  is  impossible  to  send  an 
arrow  over  them.  This  is  the  result  of  the  singular  fer- 
tility of  the  soil,  the  equable  temperature  of  the  atmos- 
phere, and  the  abundance  of  water;  which,  if  we  are  to 
believe  what  is  said,  are  such  that  a  single  fig-tree  [the 
banyan-tree]  is  capable  of  affording  shelter  to  a  whole 
troop  of  horse.  The  reeds  here  are  also  of  such  enormous 
length  that  each  portion  of  them,  between  the  joints, 
forms  a  tube,  of  which  a  boat  is  made  that  is  capable  of 
holding  three  men.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that  many  of 
the  people  here  are  more  than  five  cubits  in  height.  These 
people  never  expectorate,  are  subject  to  no  pains,  either  in 
I.  12 


134  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

the  head,  the  teeth,  or  the  eyes,  and  rarely  in  any  other 
parts  of  the  body ;  so  well  is  the  heat  of  the  sun  calcu- 
lated to  strengthen  the  constitution.  Their  philosophers, 
who  are  called  Gymnosophists,  remain  in  one  posture, 
with  their  eyes  immovably  fixed  upon  the  sun,  from  its 
rising  to  its  setting,  and  during  the  Avhole  of  the  day  they 
are  accustomed  to  stand  in  the  burning  sands  on  one  foot, 
first  one  and  then  the  other.  According  to  the  account 
of  Megasthenes,  dwelling  upon  a  mountain  called  Nulo, 
there  is  a  race  of  men  who  have  their  feet  turned  back- 
wards, with  eight  toes  on  each  foot. 

On  many  of  the  mountains,  again,  there  is  a  tribe  of 
men  who  have  the  heads  of  dogs,  and  clothe  themselves 
with  the  skins  of  wild  beasts.  Instead  of  speaking,  they 
bark ;  and,  furnished  with  claws,  they  live  by  hunting  and 
catching  birds.  According  to  the  story  as  given  by  Ctesias, 
the  number  of  these  people  is  more  than  a  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand ;  and  the  same  author  tells  us  that  there 
is  a  certain  race  in  India  .  .  .  the  hair  of  whose  children 
becomes  white  the  instant  they  are  born.  He  speaks  also 
of  another  race  of  men,  who  are  known  as  Monocoli,  who 
have  only  one  leg,  but  are  able  to  leap  with  surj^rising 
agility.  The  same  people  are  also  called  Sciapodfc,  because 
they  are  in  the  habit  of  lying  on  their  backs  dui'ing  the 
time  of  the  extreme  heat  and  protect  themselves  from  the 
sun  by  the  shade  of  their  feet.  These  people,  he  says, 
dwell  not  far  from  the  Troglodyte ;  to  the  west  of  whom, 
again,  there  is  a  tribe  who  are  without  necks  and  have 
eyes  in  their  shoulders. 

Among  the  mountainous  districts  of  the  eastern  jDarts 
of  India,  in  what  is  called  the  country  of  the  Catharcludi, 
we  find  the  Satyr,  an  animal  of  extraordinary  swiftness. 
These  go  sometimes  on  four  feet,  and  sometimes  walk  erect ; 
they  have  also  the  features  of  a  human  being.    On  account 


Plixy]     M^iN  IN  ANCIENT  NATURAL  HISTORY.  135 

of  their  swiftness,  these  creatures  are  never  to  be  caught, 
except  when  they  are  either  aged  or  sickly.  Tauron  gives 
the  name  of  Choromandse  to  a  nation  which  dwell  in  the 
woods  and  have  no  proper  voice.  These  people  screech  in 
a  fearful  manner ;  their  bodies  are  covered  with  hair,  their 
eyes  are  of  a  sea-green  color,  and  their  teeth  like  those  of 
the  dog.  Eudoxus  tells  us  that  in  the  southern  parts  of 
India  the  men  have  feet  a  cubit  in  length,  while  those  of 
the  women  are  so  remarkably  small  that  they  are  called 
Sti'uthopodes. 

Megasthenes  j)l^ces  among  the  Nomades  of  India  a 
people  who  are  called  Scyritaa.  These  have  merely  holes 
in  their  faces  instead  of  nostrils,  and  flexible  feet,  like  the 
body  of  the  serpent.  At  the  very  extremity  of  India,  on 
the  eastern  side,  near  the  source  of  the  river  Ganges,  there 
is  the  nation  of  the  Astomi,  a  people  who  have  no  mouths ; 
their  bodies  are  rough  and  hairy,  and  they  cover  themselves 
with  a  down  plucked  from  the  leaves  of  trees.  These 
peojjle  subsist  only  by  breathing  and  by  the  odors  wdiich 
they  inhale  through  the  nostrils.  They  support  themselves 
upon  neither  meat  nor  drink ;  when  they  go  upon  a  long- 
journey  they  only  carry  with  them  various  odoriferous 
roots  and  flowers,  and  wild  apples,  that  they  may  not  be 
without  something  to  smell  at.  But  an  odor  which  is  a 
little  more  powerful  than  usual  easily  destroys  them. 

Beyond  these  people,  and  at  the  very  extremity  of  the 
mountains,  the  Trispithami  and  the  Pygmies  are  said  to 
exist, — two  races  which  are  biit  three  spans  in  height,  that 
is  to  say,  twenty-seven  inches  only.  They  enjoy  a  salu- 
brious atmosphere  and  a  perpetual  spring,  being  sheltered 
by  the  mountains  from  the  northern  blasts.  It  is  these 
people  that  Homer  has  mentioned  as  being  waged  war 
upon  by  cranes.  It  is  said  that  they  are  in  the  habit  of 
going  down  every  spring  to  the  sea-shore,  in  a  large  bod}'. 


136  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [JEhcuylvs 

seated  on  the  backs  of  rams  aud  goats,  and  armed  with 
arrows,  and  there  destroy  the  eggs  and  the  young  of  those 
birds ;  that  this  exj)edition  occupies  them  for  the  space  of 
three  months,  and  that  otherwise  it  would  be  impossible  for 
them  to  withstand  the  increasing  multitude  of  the  cranes. 
Their  cabins,  it  is  said,  are  built  of  mud  mixed  with 
feathers  and  egg-shells.  Aristotle,  indeed,  says  that  they 
dwell  in  caves ;  but  in  all  other  respects  he  gives  the  same 
details  as  other  writers.  ...  In  other  places,  again,  there 
are  men  born  with  long,  hairy  tails ;  while  there  are  others 
that  have  ears  so  large  as  to  cover  the  whole  body.  .  .  . 
In  the  deserts  of  Africa  men  are  frequently  seen  to  all 
ajDpearance  and  then  vanish  in  an  instant. 

Nature,  in  her  ingenuity,  has  created  all  these  marvels 
in  the  human  race,  with  others  of  a  similar  nature,  as  so 
many  amusements  to  herself,  though  they  appear  miracu- 
lous to  us.  But  who  is  there  that  can  enumerate  all  the 
things  that  she  brings  to  pass  each  day,  I  may  almost  say 
each  hour  ?  As  a  striking  evidence  of  her  power,  let  it  be 
sufficient  for  me  to  have  cited  whole  nations  in  the  list  of 
her  2)rodigies. 


PROMETHEUS  BOUND. 

^SCIIYLUS. 

[^schylus,  the  earliest  of  the  great  tragic  poets  of  Greece,  -vvas  born 
at  Eleusis,  near  Athens,  525  B.C.  He  early  in  life  displayed  powers  of 
genius,  and,  his  attention  being  turned  to  the  drama,  he  so  far  sur- 
passed all  previous  efforts  in  this  field  as  to  make  his  first  work  a 
notable  epoch  in  the  dramatic  art.  Before  him  the  drama  consisted 
of  the  monologue  of  a  single  actor,  and  of  dialogues  between  the  actor 
and  the  chorus.  u3j]schylus  added  a  second  actor,  aud  in  other  ways 
improved  the  form  of  dramatic  spectacles.    Of  his  numerous  plays  only 


^SCHYLUS]  PROMETHEUS  BOUND.  137 

seven  have  survived.  In  these  the  characters  are  heroic  giants  and 
deities  rather  than  men,  destiny  in  its  sternest  aspect  controls  their 
lives,  and  the  ordinary  concerns  and  feelings  of  mankind  have  little 
place.  It  was  not  till  a  later  period  that  the  attention  of  dramatic 
writers  was  turned  to  actual  men,  and  their  pages  became  instinct  with 
the  story  of  ordinary  human  life. 

Of  the  extant  plays  of  -^schylus  the  most  remarkable  is  the  drama 
of  "  Prometheus  Bound,"  which  for  sustained  sublimity  is  unsurpassed 
in  the  literature  of  the  world.  Two  vast  demons,  Strength  and  Force, 
accompanied  by  Vulcan,  appear  in  a  remote,  unpeopled  desert.  There 
Vulcan  chains  Prometheus  to  a  lofty  rock  near  the  sea,  as  "  a  reward 
for  his  disposition  to  be  tender  to  mankind."  While  being  bound 
Prometheus  utters  no  sound,  but  on  the  departure  of  his  enemies  he 
breaks  out  in  the  grand  monologue  we  give  below.  As  he  soliloquizes, 
the  Daughters  of  Ocean  rise  to  console  him.  The  passages  given  are 
from  Mrs.  Browning's  fine  translation.] 

Prometheus  {alone).      O    holy  iEther,  and  swift-winged 

AVinds, 
And  River- wells,  and  laughter  innumerous 
Of  yon  sea-waves !     Earth,  mother  of  us  all, 
And  all-viewing  cyclic  Sun,  I  cry  on  you ! — 
Behold  me,  a  god,  what  I  endure  from  gods ! 

Behold,  with  throe  on  throe, 

How,  wasted  by  this  woe, 
I  wrestle  down  the  myriad  years  of  Time ! 

Behold  how  fast  around  me 
The  new  King  of  the  happy  ones  sublime 
Has  flung  the  chain  he  forged,  has  shamed  and  bound  me  I 
Woe,  woe !  to-day's  woe  and  the  coming  morrow's 
I  cover  with  one  groan !     And  where  is  found  me 

A  limit  to  these  sorrows  ? 
And  yet  what  word  do  I  say  ?     I  have  foreknown 
Clearly  all  things  that  should  be, — nothing  done 
Comes  sudden  to  my  soul, — and  I  must  bear 
What  is  ordained  with  patience,  being  aware 
I.  12* 


138  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [^schylus 

Necessity  doth  front  the  universe 

With  an  invincible  gesture.     Yet  this  curse 

Which  strikes  me  now,  I  find  it  hard  to  brave 

In  silence  or  in  sj)eech.     Because  I  gave 

Honor  to  mortals,  I  have  yoked  my  soul 

To  this  compelling  fate !     Because  I  stole 

The  secret  fount  of  fire,  whose  bubbles  went 

Over  the  ferule's  brim,  and  manward  sent 

Art's  mighty  means  and  perfect  rudiment, 

That  sin  I  expiate  in  this  agony. 

Hung  here  in  fetters,  'neath  the  blanching  sky ! 

Ah,  ah  me !  what  a  sound. 
What  a  fragrance  sweeps  up  from  a  pinion  unseen 
Of  a  god,  or  a  mortal,  or  nature  between — 
Sweeping  up  to  this  rock  where  the  earth  has  her  bound, 
To  have  sight  of  my  pangs — or  some  guerdon  obtain — 
Lo !  a  god  in  the  anguish,  a  god  in  the  chain ! 

The  god  Zeus  hateth  sore. 

And  his  gods  hate  again. 
As  many  as  tread  on  his  glorified  floor. 
Because  I  loved  mortals  too  much  evermore ! 
Alas  me !  what  a  murmur  and  motion  I  hear, 

As  of  birds  flying  near ! 

And  the  air  undersings 

The  soft  stroke  of  their  wings — 
And  all  life  that  approaches  I  wait  for  in  fear. 


CHORUS   OP    SEA-NYMPHS.      STROPHE    I. 


Pear  nothing !  our  troop 
Floats  lovingly  up 
With  a  quick-oaring  stroke 
Of  wings  steered  to  the  rock  ; 


^SCHYLUS]  PROMETHEUS  BOUND.  139 

Having  softened  the  soul  of  our  father  below ! 

For  the  gales  of  swift-bearing  have  sent  me  a  sound, 

And  the  clank  of  the  iron,  the  malleted  blow, 

Smote  down  the  profound 

Of  my  caverns  of  old, 
And  struck  the  red  light  in  a  blush  from  my  brow, — 
Till  I  sprang  up  unsandalled,  in  haste  to  behold, 
And  rushed  forth  on  my  chariot  of  wings  manifold. 

Prometheus.     Alas  me !  alas  me  I 
Ye  offsjDring  of  Tethys  who  bore  at  her  breast 
Many  children,  and  eke  of  Oceanus,  he 
Coiling  still  around  earth  with  perpetual  unrest ; 
Behold  me  and  see 
How  transfixed  with  the  fan  2: 
Of  a  fetter  I  hang 
On  the  high -jutting  rocks  of  this  fissure,  and  keep         * 
An  uncoveted  watch  o'er  the  world  and  the  deep. 

CHORUS. — ANTISTROPHE    I. 

I  behold  thee,  Prometheus — yet  now,  yet  now, 
A  terrible  cloud,  whose  rain  is  tears. 
Sweeps  over  mine  eyes  that  witness  how 

Thy  body  appears 
Hung  awaste  on  the  rocks  by  infrangible  chains ! 
For  new  is  the  hand,  new  the  rudder  that  steers 
The  ship  of  Olympus  through  surge  and  wind — 
And  of  old  things  passed,  no  track  is  behind. 

Prometheus.  Under  earth,  under  Hades, 
Where  the  home  of  the  shade  is, 
All  into  the  deep,  deep  Tartarus, 

I  would  he  had  hurled  me  adown ! 


140  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [^schylus 

I  would  he  had  phinged  me,  fastened  thus 
In  the  knotted  chain,  with  the  savage  clang. 
All  into  the  dark,  where  there  should  be  none, 
Neither  god  nor  another,  to  laugh  and  see ! 

But  now  the  winds  sing  through  and  shake 

The  hurtling  chains  wherein  I  hang. 

And  I,  in  my  naked  sorrows,  make 
Much  mirth  for  my  enemy. 


CHORUS. — STROPHE    II. 

Nay !  who  of  the  gods  hath  a  heart  so  stem 
As  to  use  thy  woe  for  a  mock  and  mirth  ? 
Who  would  not  turn  more  mild  to  learn 

Thy  sorrows  ?  who  of  the  heaven  and  earth, 
Save  Zeus  ?     But  he 
Eight  wrathfuUy 
Bears  on  his  sceptral  soul  unbent, 
And  rules  thereby  the  heavenly  seed ; 
Nor  will  he  pause,  till  he  content 
His  thirsty  heart  in  a  finished  deed  ; 
Or  till  Another  shall  appear. 
To  win  by  fraud,  to  seize  by  fear. 
The  hard-to-be-captured  government. 

Prometheus.  Yet  even  of  me  he  shall  have  need, 
That  monarch  of  the  blessed  seed ; 
Of  me,  of  me,  who  now  am  cursed 

By  his  fetters  dire ! 
To  wring  my  secret  out  withal. 
And  learn  by  whom  his  sceptre  shall 
Be  filched  from  him — as  was,  at  first, 

His  heavenly  fire ! 


^SCHYLUS]  PROMETHEUS  BOUND.  141 

But  he  never  shall  enchaBt  me 

With  his  honey-lipped  persuasion, 
Never,  never  shall  he  daunt  me 

With  the  oath  and  threat  of  passion 
Into  speaking  as  they  want  me, 
Till  he  loose  this  savage  chain, 

And  accept  the  expiation 
Of  my  sorrow,  in  his  pain. 

CHORUS. — ANTISTROPHE   II. 

Thou  art,  sooth,  a  brave  god, 

And,  for  all  thou  hast  borne 
From  the  stroke  of  the  rod, 

Naught  relaxest  from  scorn ! 
But  thou,  speakest  unto  me 

Too  free  and  unworn. 
And  a  terror  strikes  through  me. 

And  festers  my  soul, — 

And  I  fear  in  the  roll 
Of  the  storm  for  thy  fate 

In  the  ship  fur  from  shore, 
Since  the  son  of  Saturnus  is  hard  in  his  hate, 

And  unmoved  in  his  heart  evermore. 

Prometheus.  I  know  that  Zeus  is  stern ! 
I  know  he  metes  his  justice  by  his  will ! 

And  yet  his  soul  shall  learn 
More  softness  when  once  broken  by  this  ill, — 
And,  curbing  his  unconquerable  vaunt, 
He  shall  rush  on  in  fear  to  meet  Avith  me 
"Who  rush  to  meet  with  him  in  agony. 
To  issues  of  harmonious  covenant. 

[At  the  request  of  the  chorus,  Prometheus  describes  his  services  to 
mankind.     While  doing  so,  Oceanus  appears  and  exhorts  him  to  submit 


142  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [^schyltjs 

to  Jupiter.  Afterwards  lo,  another  victim  of  the  avenging  deities, 
enters  in  the  form  of  a  heifer  tormented  by  a  perpetual  gadfly,  and 
takes  part  in  the  dialogue. 

Finally  Mercury  arrives,  charged  by  Jupiter  to  learn  from  Prome- 
theus the  nature  of  the  danger  that  awaits  him.  The  Titan  haughtily 
refuses  to  reveal  the  secret.  Mercury  departs,  and  Jupiter's  threat  is 
fulfilled  :  amid  storm  and  earthquake  both  rock  and  prisoner  arc  hurled 
by  the  lightning  of  the  king  of  the  gods  into  the  dark  abyss.  That  is 
the  whole, — a  chained  deity  and  his  defiance  of  his  foes.  Yet  in  this 
captive  Titan  we  have  a  conception  unequalled  in  literature,  if  we  ex- 
cept the  Satan  of  Milton's  great  epic.  The  extant  play  is  probably  but 
the  second  of  a  trilogy,  the  first  of  which  may  have  shown  the  crime 
of  Prometheus,  while  the  last  may  have  had  for  its  subject  Prometheus 
Freed,  his  restoration  to  his  godlike  station.  We  append,  from  the 
same  version,  the  concluding  portion  of  the  play.  Hermes  has  argued 
and  threatened  in  vain,  and  now  makes  his  final  eflbrt.] 

Hermes.  I  have,  indeed,  methinks,  said  much  in  vain, 
For  still  thy  heart  beneath  my  showers  of  prayers 
Lies  dry  and  hard, — nay,  leaps  like  a  young  horse 
Who  bites  against  the  new  bit  in  his  teeth, 
And  tugs  and  struggles  against  the  new-tried  rein, — 
Still  fiercest  in  the  feeblest  thing  of  all, 
Which  sophism  is ;  since  absolute  will  disjoined 
From  perfect  mind  is  worse  than  weak.     Behold, 
Unless  my  words  persuade  thee,  what  a  blast 
And  whirlwind  of  inevitable  woe 
Must  sweep  persuasion  through  thee  I     For  at  first 
The  Father  will  split  up  this  jut  of  rock 
With  the  great  thunder  and  the  bolted  flame. 
And  hide  thy  body  where  a  hinge  of  stone 
Shall  catch  it  like  an  arm ! — and  when  thou  hast  passed 
A  long  black  time  within,  thou  shalt  come  out 
To  front  the  sun  while  Zeus's  winged  hound. 
The  strong  carnivorous  eagle,  shall  wheel  down 
To  meet  thee,  self-called  to  a  daily  feast, 


^SCHYLUS]  PROMETHEUS  BOUND.  143 

And  set  his  fierce  beak  in  thee,  and  tear  off 
The  long  rags  of  thy  flesh,  and  batten  deep 
Upon  thy  dusky  liver.     Do  not  look 
For  any  end,  moreover,  to  this  curse 
Or  ere  some  god  appear,  to  accept  thy  pangs 
On  his  own  head  vicarious,  and  descend 
With  unreluctant  step  the  darks  of  hell 
And  gloomy  abysses  around  Tartarus ! — 
Then  ponder  this  ! — this  threat  is  not  a  growth 
Of  vain  invention :  it  is  spoken  and  meant ! 
King  Zeus's  mouth  is  impotent  to  lie, 
Consummating  the  utterance  by  the  act. 
So,  look  to  it,  thou ! — take  heed,  and  nevermore 
Porget  good  counsel,  to  indulge  self-will ! 

Chorus.  Our  Hermes  suits  his  reasons  to  the  times ; 
At  least  I  think  so,  since  he  bids  thee  drop 
Self-will  for  prudent  counsel.     Yield  to  him ! 
When  the  wise  err,  their  wisdom  makes  their  shame. 

Prometheus.  Unto  me,  the  foreknower,  this  mandate  of 
power 

He  cries,  to  reveal  it ! 
What's  strange  in  my  fate,  if  I  suffer  from  hate 

At  the  hour  that  I  feel  it  ? 
Let  the  locks  of  the  lightning,  all  bristling  and  whitening, 

Flash,  coiling  me  round. 
While  the  aether  goes  surging  'neath  thunder  and  scourging 

Of  wild  winds  unbound ! 
Let  the  blast  of  the  firmament  whirl  from  its  place 

The  earth  rooted  below. 
And  the  brine  of  the  ocean,  in  rapid  emotion, 

Be  driven  in  the  face 
Of  the  stars  up  in  heaven,  as  they  walk  to  and  fro ! 


144  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [^schylus 

Let  him  hurl  me  anon  into  Tartarus — on — 

To  the  blackest  degree, 
With  ]N"ecessity's  vortices  strangling  me  down ; 
But  he  cannot  join  death  to  a  fate  meant  for  me ! 

Hermes.  Why,  the  words  that  he  speaks  and  the  thoughts 
that  he  thinks 
Are  maniacal ! — add, 
If  the  Fate  who  hath  bound  him  should  loose  not  the 
links, 
He  were  utterly  mad. 
Then  depart  ye  who  groan  with  him, 
Leaving  to  moan  with  him — 
Go  in  haste !  lest  the  roar  of  the  thunder  anearing 
Should  blast  you  to  idiocy,  living  and  hearing. 

Chorus.  Change  thy  speech  for  another,  thy  thought  for 
a  new, 

If  to  move  me  and  teach  me  indeed  be  thy  care ! 
For  thy  words  swerve  so  far  from  the  loyal  and  true, 

That  the  thunder  of  Zeus  seems  more  easy  to  bear. 
How !  couldst  teach  me  to  venture  such  vileness  ?  behold ! 
I  choose,  with  this  victim,  this  anguish  foretold ! 
I  recoil  from  the  traitor  in  hate  and  disdain, — 
And  I  know  that  the  curse  of  the  treason  is  worse 
Than  the  pang  of  the  chain. 

Hermes.    Then  remember,  O  nj-mj^hs,  what  I  tell  you 

before, 
ISTor,  when  pierced  by  the  arrows  that  Ate  will  throw  you, 
Cast  blame  on  your  fate,  and  declare  evermore 
That  Zeus  thrust  you  on  anguish  he  did  not  foreshow 

you. 


Xenophon]    retreat  OF  THE   TEN  THOUSAND.  145 

Nay,  verily,  nay  I  for  ye  perish  anon 

For  your  deed — by  your  clioice.     By  no   blindness  of 
doubt, 
No  abrujjtness  of  doom,  but  by  madness  alone. 

In  the  great  net  of  Ate,  whence  none  cometh  out, 
Ye  are  wound  and  undone ! 

Prometheus.  Ay !  in  act  now,  in  word  now  no  more ! 
Earth  is  rocking  in  space. 
And  the  thunders  crash  up  with  a  roar  upon  roar, 
And  the  eddying  lightnings  flash  fire  in  my  face. 
And   the   whirlwinds   are  whirling   the   dust   round   and 
round, 
And  the  blasts  of  the  winds  universal  leap  free 
And  blow  each  upon  each  with  a  passion  of  sound, 
And  Eether  goes  mingling  in  storm  with  the  sea ! 
Such  a  cui-se  on  my  head,  in  a  manifest  dread, 

From  the  hand  of  your  Zeus  has  been  hurtled  along. 
O  my  mother's  ftiir  glory  !     O  iEther,  enringing 
All  eyes  with  the  sweet  common  light  of  thy  bringing  I 
Dost  see  how  I  suffer  this  wrong  ? 


THE  RETREAT  OF  THE  TEN  THOUSAND. 

XENOPHON. 

[Xenophon  was  bom  at  Athens  about  445  B.C.,  or,  according  to  later 
critics,  about  429  B.C.  He  is  said  to  have  taken  part  iix  the  battle  of 
Delium,  where  Socrates,  a  fellow-soldier,  saved  his  life  by  carrying  him 
on  his  shoulders  from  the  field  of  battle.  This  story  is  questioned ; 
but  it  is  certain  that  Xenojrihon  became  an  ardent  follower  of  Socrates, 
of  whose  daily  life  and  conversation  he  has  left  us  a  valuable  record 
in  his  "  Memorabilia."  At  a  later  period  he  joined  the  army  of  Greek 
mercenaries  which  Cyrus  the  Younger  had  engaged  to  aid  him  in  an 
I.— Q         k  13 


146  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenofuon 

expedition  against  his  brother  the  King  of  Persia.  This  enterprise 
ended  in  the  death  of  Cynis  in  the  battle  of  Ciinaxa,  the  treacherous 
slaughter  of  the  Greek  generals,  and  the  retreat  of  their  followers 
under  the  leadei'ship  of  Xenophon,  who  from  the  position  of  a  volun- 
teer was  raised  to  that  of  commander.  In  this  famous  "  Ketreat  of 
the  Ten  Thousand,"  through  the  heart  of  a  hostile  realm,  and  part  of 
it  in  severe  winter  weather,  he  showed  the  finest  qualities  of  leader- 
ship, and  finally  reached  Asia  Minor  with  the  greater  part  of  his  army, 
despite  the  incessant  attacks  of  the  Persian  forces.  He  had  been  pre- 
viously banished  from  Athens,  and  the  latter  part  of  his  life  was 
passed  in  seclusion,  and  occupied  in  authorship,  agriculture,  and  hunt- 
ing, of  which  latter  he  was  very  fond.  He  died  at  Corinth  about 
359  B.C.  His  works  include  the  "  Anabasis,"  or  the  Retreat  of  the  Ten 
Thousand,  the  "  Cyropasdia, "  an  ideal  life  of  Cynis  the  Elder,  the 
"  Memorabilia"  of  Socrates,  and  treatises  on  various  other  s'abjects. 

His  mode  of  thought  was  practical,  not  speculative,  and  he  was  in 
no  sense  a  great  historian.  Yet  his  style,  while  not  vigorous,  is  sim- 
ple, clear,  and  fluent,  and  his  gossiping  attention  to  minor  particulars 
makes  his  works  very  entertaining.  He  introduces  speeches  into  the 
mouths  of  his  characters  after  the  manner  of  Thucydides,  and  in  this 
res^Dect  is  often  very  animated.  The  "Anabasis,"  after  describing  the 
battle  of  Cunaxa,  the  death  of  Cyrus,  and  the  eflforts  of  the  Persian 
monarch  to  induce  the  Greeks  to  surrender,  thousands  of  miles  from 
home  as  they  were,  and  in  the  vicinity  of  a  vastly  more  numerous 
army,  describes  their  detennination  to  retreat,  and  the  treacherous 
slaughter  of  their  generals  in  a  conference  to  which  they  were  invited. 
Xenophon  was  now  made  leader,  and  the  retreat  continued,  while  the 
Persian  satrap  Tissaphernes  piu'sued  them  with  a  considerable  force. 
The  translation  is  that  of  Spelman.] 

During  their  march  Tissaphernes  appeared  with  his  own 
horse,  and  the  forces  of  Orontas,  who  had  married  the 
king's  daughter,  together  with  those  barbarians  [all  for- 
eigners were  "  barbarians"  to  the  GJ-reeks]  who  had  served 
under  Cjrrus  in  his  expedition  ;  to  these  was  added  the 
army  which  the  king's  brother  had  brought  to  his  assist- 
ance, and  the  troops  the  king  had  given  him.  All  these 
together  made  a  vast  army.      When  he  approached   ho 


Xenophon]   retreat  OF  THE   TEN  THOUSAND.  147 

placed  some  of  his  forces  against  our  rear,  and  others 
against  each  of  our  fhxnks,  but  durst  not  attack  us,  being 
unwilling  to  hazard  a  battle ;  however,  he  ordered  his  men 
to  use  their  slings  and  bows.  But  when  the  Ehodians, 
who  were  disposed  in  platoons,  began  to  make  use  of  their 
slings,  and  the  Cretan  bowmen,  in  imitation  of  the  Scyth- 
ians, discharged  their  arrows,  none  of  them  missing  the 
enemy, — which  they  could  not  easily  have  done  though 
they  had  endeavored  it, —  both  Tissaphernes  himself 
quickly  got  out  of  their  reach,  and  the  other  divisions 
retired.  The  remaining  part  of  the  day  the  Greeks  con- 
tinued their  march,  and  the  others  followed  without  harass- 
ing them  any  more  by  skirmishes ;  for  the  slings  of  the 
Ehodians  not  only  carried  farther  than  those  of  the  Per- 
sians, but  even  than  most  of  the  archers  could  throw 
their  arrows.  The  Persian  bows  are  long,  so  that  their 
arrows,  when  gathered  up,  were  of  service  to  the  Cretans, 
who  continued  to  make  use  of  them,  and  accustomed  them- 
selves to  take  a  great  elevation,  in  order  to  shoot  them  to  a 
greater  distance.  Besides,  there  were  found  a  considerable 
quantity  of  bow-strings  in  the  villages,  and  some  lead, 
both  of  which  were  employed  for  the  slings. ' 

[In  their  further  march  the  Greeks  observed  that  their  ordinary  for- 
mation in  a  square  was  not  the  proper  disposition  of  an  army  when 
pursued  by  an  enemy.  They  were  therefore  rearranged,  in  a  manner 
to  adapt  them  to  follow  the  roads,  yet  to  close  up  rapidly  when 
attacked.  ] 

While  they  were  upon  their  march  the  fifth  day,  they 
saw  a  palace  and  many  villages  lying  round  it.  The  road 
which  led  to  this  place  lay  over  high  hills,  that  reached 
down  from  the  mountain,  under  which  there  stood  a  village. 
The  Greeks  were  rejoiced  to  see  those  hills,  and  with  great 
reason,  the  enemy's  force  consisting  in  horse.     But  after 


148  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xekophon 

they  had  left  the  plain,  and  ascended  the  first  hill,  while 
they  were  descending  from  thence  in  order  to  climb  the 
next,  the  barbarians  appeared,  and  from  the  eminence 
showered  down  upon  them,  under  the  scourge,  darts,  stones, 
and  arrows.  They  wounded  many,  and  had  the  advantage 
over  the  Greek  light-armed  men,  forcing  them  to  retire 
within  the  body  of  the  heavy-armed :  so  that  the  slingers 
and  archers  were  that  day  entirely  useless,  being  mixed 
with  those  who  had  charge  of  the  baggage.  And  when 
the  Greeks,  being  thus  pressed,  endeavored  to  pursue  the 
enemy,  as  they  Avere  heavy-armed  men  they  moved  slowly 
to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  while  the  enemy  quickly  re- 
treated ;  and  v/hen  the  Greeks  retired  to  their  main  body 
the  same  thing  happened  to  them  again.  They  found  the 
same  difficulty  in  passing  the  second  hill:  so  that  they 
determined  not  to  order  out  the  heavy-armed  men  from 
the  third  hill ;  but  instead  of  that  they  brought  up  the 
targeteers  to  the  toj)  of  the  mountain  from  the  right  of 
the  square.  When  these  were  got  above  the  enemy  they 
no  longer  molested  oiu*  men  in  their  descent,  fearing  to  be 
cut  off  from  their  own  body,  and  that  we  should  attack 
them  on  both  sides.  In  this  manner  we  marched  the  rest 
of  the  day,  some  in  the  road  upon  the  hills,  and  others 
abreast  of  them  upon  the  mountain,  till  they  came  to  the 
villages ;  when  they  appointed  eight  surgeons,  for  there 
were  many  wounded. 

Here  they  stayed  three  days,  both  on  account  of  the 
wounded,  and  because  they  found  plenty  of  provisions 
there,  as  wheat,  meal,  wine,  and  a  great  quantity  of  barley 
for  horses ;  all  of  which  was  laid  up  for  the  satrap  of  the 
country.  The  fourth  day  they  descended  into  the  plain ; 
where,  when  Tissaphernes  had  overtaken  them  with  the 
army  under  his  command,  he  taught  them  how  necessary 
it  was  to  encamp  in  the  first  village  they  came  to,  and  to 


Xenophon]    retreat  OF  THE   TEN  THOUSAND.  149 

march  no  longer  fighting :  for  some  being  wounded,  some 
employed  in  carrying  those  who  were  so,  and  others  in 
carrying  the  arms  of  the  latter,  great  numbers  were  not 
in  a  condition  to  fight.  But  when  they  were  encamped, 
and  the  barbarians,  coming  up  to  the  village,  oftered  to 
skirmish,  the  Greeks  had  greatly  the  advantage  of  them ; 
for  they  found  a  great  diflerence  between  sallying  from 
their  camp  to  repulse  the  enemy,  and  being  obliged  to 
march  fighting,  whenever  they  were  attacked. 

When  the  evening  approached  it  was  time  for  the  bar- 
barians to  retire ;  because  they  never  encamped  at  a  less 
distance  from  the  Greeks  than  sixty  stadia,  for  fear  these 
should  fall  upon  them  in  the  night, — a  Persian  army  being 
then  subject  to  great  inconveniences ;  for  their  horses  are 
tied  and  generally  shackled,  to  prevent  them  from  running 
away ;  and,  if  an  alarm  happens,  a  Persian  has  the  housing 
to  fix.  his  horse  to  bridle,  and  his  corselet  to  put  on,  before 
he  can  mount.  All  these  things  cannot  be  done  in  the 
night  without  great  difiiculty,  particularly  if  there  is  an 
alarm.  For  this  reason  they  always  encamped  at  a  dis- 
tance from  the  Greeks.  .  .  . 

When  the  Greeks  plainly  saw  they  were  retired  they 
also  decamped,  and,  marching  away,  advanced  about  sixty 
stadia.  The  two  armies  were  now  at  so  great  a  distance 
from  one  another  that  the  enemy  did  not  appear  either  the 
next  day  or  the  day  after.  But  on  the  fourth  the  barba- 
rians, having  got  before  the  Greeks  in  the  night,  possessed 
themselves  of  an  eminence  that  commanded  the  road 
through  which  the  Greeks  were  to  pass.  It  was  the  brow 
of  a  hill,  under  which  lay  the  descent  into  the  plain.  As 
soon  as  Cheirisophus  saw  this  eminence  possessed  by  the 
enemy,  he  sent  for  Xenophon  from  the  rear,  and  desired 
him  to  bring  up  the  targeteers  to  the  front.  Xenophon 
did  not  take  these  with  him  (for  he  saw  Tissaphernes  ad- 
I.  13-^ 


150  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenophon 

vancing  with  his  whole  army),  but,  riding  up  to  him  him- 
self, said,  "Why  do  you  send  for  me?"  Cheirisophus 
answered,  "  You  see  the  enemy  have  possessed  themselves 
of  the  hill  that  commands  the  descent,  and  unless  we  dis- 
lodge them  it  is  not  possible  for  us  to  pass ;  but,"  adds  he, 
"why  do  you  not  bring  the  targeteers  along  with  you?" 
Xenoj)hon  replied,  because  he  did  not  think  it  proper  to 
leave  the  rear  naked,  when  the  enemy  was  in  sight.  "  But," 
says  he,  "  it  is  high  time  to  consider  how  we  shall  dislodge 
those  men." 

Here  Xenophon,  observing  the  top  of  the  mountain  that 
was  above  their  own  army,  found  there  was  a  passage 
from  that  to  the  hill  where  the  enemy  was  posted.  Upon 
this  he  said,  "  O  Cheirisophus !  I  think  the  best  thing  we 
can  do  is  to  gain  the  top  of  this  mountain  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible ;  for  if  we  are  once  masters  of  that  the  enemy  can- 
not maintain  themselves  upon  the  hill.  Do  you  stay  with 
the  army,"  says  he,  "  if  you  think  fit,  and  I'll  go  up  the  hill ; 
or  do  you  go,  if  you  desire  it,  and  I'll  stay  here."  Chei- 
risophus answered,  "  I  give  you  your  choice."  To  this 
Xenophon  replied  that,  as  he  was  the  younger  man,  he 
chose  to  go ;  but  desired  he  would  send  him  some  troops 
from  the  front,  since  it  would  take  a  great  deal  of  time  to 
bring  up  a  detachment  from  the  rear.  So  Cheirisophus 
sent  the  targeteers  that  were  in  the  front :  Xenophon  also 
took  those  that  were  in  the  middle  of  the  square.  Besides 
these,  Cheirisophus  ordered  the  three  hundred  chosen  men, 
who  attended  on  himself  in  the  front  of  the  square,  to 
follow  him. 

After  this  they  marched  with  all  jjossible  expedition. 
The  enemy  who  were  uj)on  the  hill,  the  moment  they  saw 
them  climb  the  mountain,  advanced  at  the  same  time, 
striving  to  get  there  before  them.  Upon  this  occasion 
there  was  a  vast  shout  raised  by  the  Greek  army,  and 


Xenophon]    retreat  OF   THE   TEN   THOUSAND.  151 

that  of  Tissaphernes,  each  encouraging  their  own  men. 
And  Xenophon,  riding  by  the  side  of  his  troops,  called 
out  to  them,  "Soldiers!  think  you  are  this  minute  con- 
tending to  return  to  Greece,  this  minute  to  see  your  wives 
and  children :  after  this  momentary  labor  we  shall  go  on 
without  any  further  opposition."  To  whom  Soteridas  the 
Sicyonian  said, "  We  are  not  upon  equal  terms,  O  Xenophon! 
for  you  are  on  horseback,  while  I  am  greatly  fatigued  with 
carrying  my  shield."  Xenophon,  hearing  this,  leaped  from 
his  horse,  and  thrust  him  out  of  his  rank  ;  then,  taking 
his  shield,  marched  on  as  fast  as  he  could.  He  happened 
to  have  a  horseman's  corselet  on  at  that  time,  which  was 
veiy  troublesome.  However,  he  called  to  those  who  were 
before  to  mend  their  pace,  and  to  those  behind,  who  fol- 
lowed with  great  difficulty,  to  come  up.  The  rest  of  the 
soldiers  beat  and  abused  Soteridas,  and  threw  stones  at 
him,  till  they  obliged  him  to  take  his  shield  and  go  on. 
Then  Xenophon  remounted,  and  led  them  on  horseback 
as  far  as  the  way  would  allow ;  and,  when  it  became  im- 
passable for  his  horse,  he  hastened  forward  on  foot.  At 
last  they  gained  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  prevented 
the  enemy. 

Upon  this  the  barbarians  turned  their  backs  and  fled, 
every  one  as  he  could,  and  the  G-reeks  remained  masters 
of  the  eminence.  Tissaphernes  and  Ariasus  with  their 
men,  turning  out  of  the  road,  went  another  way;  and 
Cheirisophus  with  his  forces  came  down  into  the  plain,  and 
encamped  in  a  village  abounding  in  everything.  There  were 
also  many  other  villages  in  this  plain,  near  the  Tigris,  full 
of  all  sorts  of  provisions. 

[The  critical  state  of  aliairs  above  described  continued  for  months. 
The  Greeks,  finding  it  impossible  to  cross  the  Tigris,  decided  to  follow 
the  east  bank  of  that  river,  and  cross  the  mountains  to  the  country  of 


152  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenophon 

a  fierce  tribe  called  the  Carduchians,  by  wbicli  route  they  might  reach 
Armenia  and  pass  the  Tigris  and  Euphrates  at  their  head-waters. 
They  did  not  succeed  in  this  adventure  without  much  hard  fighting 
and  considerable  loss.  On  reaching  Armenia  they  had  other  perils  to 
contend  with,  for  the  winter  was  now  upon  them,  and  that  mountain- 
ous country  covered  with  snow.  They  passed  the  Euphrates,  near  its 
head-waters,  by  wading.] 

From  thence  they  made,  in  three  days'  march,  fifteen 
parasangs  over  a  plain  covered  with  a  deep  snow.  The 
last  day's  march  was  very  grievous,  for  the  north  wind, 
blowing  full  in  their  faces,  quite  parched  and  benumbed 
the  men.  Upon  this  one  of  the  priests  advised  to  sacri- 
fice to  the  wind,  which  was  complied  with,  and  the  vehe- 
mence of  it  visibly  abated.  The  snow  was  a  fathom  in 
dej)th,  insomuch  that  many  of  the  slaves  and  sumpter- 
horses  died,  and  about  thirty  soldiers.  They  made  fires  all 
night,  for  they  found  plenty  of  wood  in  the  place  where 
they  encamped.  .  .  . 

From  thence  they  marched  all  the  next  day  through  the 
snow,  when  many  of  the  men  contracted  the  bulimy.* 
Xenophon,  who  commanded  the  rear,  seeing  them  lie  upon 
the  ground,  knew  not  what  their  distemper  was ;  but, 
being  informed  by  those  who  were  acquainted  with  it 
that  it  was  jilainly  the  bulimy,  and  that  if  they  ate  any- 
thing they  would  rise  again,  he  went  to  the  baggage,  and 
whatever  refreshments  he  found  there  he  gave  some  to 
those  who  were  aiflicted  with  this  distemper,  and  sent 
persons  able  to  go  about  to  divide  the  rest  among  others 
who  were  in  the  same  condition ;  and  as  soon  as  they 
had  eaten  something  they  rose  up  and  continued  their 
march. 

During  which,  Cheirisophus  came  to  a  village,  just  as  it 

*  A  distemper  which  creates  excessive  hunger. 


Xenophon]    retreat  OF   THE    TEN  THOUSAND.  153 

was  dark,  and  at  a  fountain  without  the  walls  he  found 
some  women  and  girls,  who  belonged  to  it,  carrying  water. 
These  inquired  who  they  were ;  the  interpreter  answered 
that  they  were  going  to  the  satrap  from  the  king.  The 
women  rei^lied  that  he  was  not  there,  but  at  a  place  distant 
about  a  parasang  from  thence.  As  it  was  late,  they  en- 
tered the  walls  together  with  the  women,  and  went  to  the 
bailiff  of  the  town.  Here  Cheirisophus  encamped  with  all 
that  could  come  up. 

The  rest,  who  were  unable  to  continue  their  march,  passed 
the  night  without  victuals  or  fire,  by  which  means  some  of 
them  perished ;  and  a  party  of  the  enemy,  following  our 
march,  took  some  of  the  sumpter-horses  that  could  not 
keep  pace  with  the  rest,  and  fought  with  one  another  about 
them.  Some  of  the  men,  also,  who  had  lost  their  sight  by 
the  snow,  or  whose  toes  were  rotted  off  by  the  intenseness 
of  the  cold,  were  left  behind.  The  eyes  were  relieved 
against  the  snow  by  wearing  something  black  before  them, 
and  the  feet  against  the  cold  by  continual  motion,  and  by 
pulling  off  their  shoes  in  the  night.  If  they  slej^t  with 
their  shoes  on,  the  latchets  pierced  their  flesh,  and  the 
shoes  stuck  to  their  feet ;  for  when  their  old  shoes  were 
worn  out  they  wore  carhatines  made  of  raw  hides. 

These  grievances  therefore  occasioned  some  of  the 
soldiers  to  be  left  behind ;  who,  seeing  a  piece  of  ground 
that  appeared  black,  because  there  was  no  snow  upon  it, 
concluded  it  was  melted ;  and  melted  it  was.  by  a  vapor 
that  was  continually  exhaling  from  a  fountain  in  a  valley 
near  the  place.  Thither  they  betook  themselves,  and, 
sitting  down,  refused  to  march  any  farther.  Xenophon, 
who  had  charge  of  the  rear,  as  soon  as  he  was  informed 
of  this,  tried  all  means  to  prevail  iipon  them  not  to  be  left 
behind,  telling  them  that  the  enemy  were  got  together  in 
great  numbers  and  followed  them  close.     At  last  he  grew 


154  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenophon 

angiy.  They  bade  him  kill  them,  if  he  would,  for  they 
were  not  able  to  go  on.  Upon  this  he  thought  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  was,  if  possible,  to  strike  a  terror  into 
the  enemy  that  followed,  lest  they  should  fall  upon  the 
men  who  were  tired.  It  was  now  dark,  and  the  enemy 
came  on  with  great  tumult,  quarrelling  with  one  another 
about  their  booty.  Upon  this,  such  of  the  rear-guard  as 
were  well,  rising  up,  rushed  ujion  them ;  while  those  who 
were  tired  shouted  out  as  loud  as  they  could,  and  struck 
their  shields  with  their  j)ikes.  The  enemy,  alarmed  at  this, 
threw  themselves  into  the  valley  of  the  enow,  and  were 
no  more  heard  of. 

[After  many  more  days'  marching,  the  army  gained,  by  dint  of 
severe  conflict,  the  summit  of  some  hills,  where  they  found  villages 
well  stored  with  provisions.] 

From  hence  they  came  to  the  country  of  the  Taochians, 
making  in  five  marches  thirty  parasangs ;  and  here  their 
provisions  began  to  fail  them ;  for  the  Taochians  inhabited 
fastnesses,  into  which  they  had  conveyed  all  their  provis- 
ions. At  last  the  army  arrived  at  a  strong  place,  which 
had  neither  city  nor  houses  upon  it,  but  where  great  num- 
bers of  men  and  women  with  their  cattle  were  assembled. 
This  place  Cheirisophus  ordered  to  be  attacked  the  moment 
he  came  before  it,  and  when  the  first  company  suffered, 
another  went  up,  and  then  another ;  for,  the  place  being 
surrounded  with  precipices,  they  could  not  attack  it  on  all 
sides  at  once.  When  Xenophon  came  up  with  the  rear- 
guard, the  targeteers,  and  heavy-armed  men,  Cheirisoj)hus 
said  to  him,  "  You  come  ver}^  seasonably,  for  this  place 
must  be  taken,  otherwise  the  army  will  be  starved." 

Upon  this  they  called  a  council  of  war,  and,  Xenophon 
demanding  what  could  hinder  them  from  taking  the  jjlace, 
Cheirisoiihus  answered,  "  There  is  no  other  access  to  it  but 


XenophOxn]    retreat  OF   THE    TEN   THOUSAND.  155 

this,  and  when  any  of  our  men  attempt  to  gain  it  they  roll 
down  stones  from  the  impending  rock,  and  those  they  light 
upon  are  treated  as  you  see ;"  pointing  at  the  same  time  to 
some  of  the  men,  whose  legs  and  ribs  were  broken. 

"  But,"  says  Xenoi^hon,  "  when  they  have  consumed  all 
the  stones  they  have,  what  can  hinder  us  then  from  going 
up?  For  I  can  see  nothing  to  oppose  us  but  a  few  men, 
and  of  these  not  above  two  or  three  that  are  armed.  The 
space,  3^ou  see,  through  which  we  must  pass,  exposed  to 
those  stones,  is  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  length, 
of  which  that  of  one  hundred  feet  is  covered  with  large 
pines,  growing  in  groups,  against  which  if  the  men  place 
themselves,  what  can  they  suffer,  either  from  the  stones 
that  are  thrown  or  rolled  down  by  the  enemy  ?  The  re- 
maining part  of  this  space  is  not  above  fifty  feet,  which, 
when  the  stones  cease,  we  must  despatch  with  all  possible 
expedition." 

"  But,"  says  Cheirisophus,  ''  the  moment  we  offer  to  go 
to  the  place  that  is  covered  with  the  trees  they  will  shower 
down  stones  upon  us."  "  That,"  replies  Xenophon,  "  is  the 
very  thing  we  want,  for  by  this  means  they  will  be  con- 
sumed the  sooner.  However,"  continues  he,  "  let  us,  if  we 
can,  advance  to  that  place,  from  whence  we  may  have  but 
a  little  way  to  run,  and  from  w^hence  we  may  also,  if  we 
see  convenient,  retreat  with  ease." 

Upon  this  Cheirisophus  and  Xenophon,  with  Callima- 
chus  of  Parrhasie,  one  of  the  captains,  advanced,  all  the 
rest  of  the  officers  standing  out  of  danger.  Then  about 
seventy  of  the  men  advanced  under  the  trees,  not  in  a 
body,  but  one  by  one,  each  sheltering  himself  as  well  as 
he  could.  .  .  .  Upon  this  occasion  Callimachus  made  use 
of  the  following  stratagem.  He  advanced  two  or  three 
paces  from  the  tree  under  which  he  stood ;  but,  as  soon  as 
the  stones  began  to  fly,  he  quickly  retired,  and  uj)on  every 


156  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenopuon 

excursion  more  than  ten  cart-loads  of  stones  were  con- 
sumed. 

When  Agasias  [who,  with  others,  had  stood  farther  back] 
saw  what  Callimachus  was  doing,  and  that  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  army  were  upon  him,  fearing  lest  he  should  be  the 
first  man  who  entered  the  place,  he,  without  giving  any 
notice  to  Aristonymus,  who  stood  next  to  him,  or  to  Euryl- 
ochus  of  Lusia,  both  of  whom  were  his  friends,  or  to  any 
other  person,  advanced  alone,  with  a  design  to  get  before 
the  rest.  When  Callimachus  saw  him  passing  by,  he  laid 
hold  of  the  border  of  his  shield.  In  the  mean  time  Aris- 
tonymus, and,  after  him,  Eurylochus,  ran  by  them  both ; 
for  all  these  were  rivals  in  glory,  and  in  a  constant  emula- 
tion of  each  other.  And  by  contending  thus  they  took  the 
place ;  for  the  moment  one  of  them  had  gained  the  ascent, 
there  were  no  more  stones  thrown  from  above. 

And  here  followed  a  dreadful  spectacle  indeed ;  for  the 
women  first  threw  their  children  down  the  precipice,  and 
then  themselves.  The  men  did  the  same.  And  here  iEneas 
the  Stymphalian,  a  captain,  seeing  one  of  the  barbarians, 
who  was  richly  dressed,  running  Avith  a  design  to  throw 
himself  down,  caught  hold  of  him.  and,  the  other  drawing 
him  after,  they  both  fell  down  the  precipice  together,  and 
were  dashed  to  pieces.  Thus  we  made  very  few  prisoners, 
but  took  a  considerable  quantity  of  oxen,  asses,  and  sheep. 

From  thence  the  Greeks  advanced  through  the  country 
of  the  Chalybians,  and  in  seven  marches  made  fifty  para- 
sangs.  These  being  the  most  valiant  people  thc}^  met  with 
in  all  their  march,  they  came  to  a  close  engagement  with 
the  Greeks.  They  had  linen  corselets  that  reached  below 
their  navel,  and,  instead  of  tassels,  thick  cords  twisted. 
They  had  also  greaves  and  helmets,  and  at  their  girdle 
a  short  falchion,  like  those  of  the  Lacedemonians,  with 
which  they  cut  the  throats  of  those  they  overpowered, 


Xenophok]    retreat  OF   THE    TEN   THOUSAND.  157 

and  afterwards,  cutting  off  their  beads,  carried  them  away 
in  triumj)h.  It  was  their  custom  to  sing  and  dance  when- 
ever they  thought  the  enemy  saw  them.  They  had  pikes 
fifteen  cubits  in  length,  with  only  one  point.  They  stayed 
in  their  cities  till  the  Greeks  marched  past  them,  and 
then  followed,  harassing  them  jDcrpetually.  After  that 
they  retired  to  their  strongholds,  into  which  they  had 
conveyed  their  provisions :  so  that  the  Greeks  could  supply 
themselves  with  nothing  out  of  their  country,  but  lived 
upon  the  cattle  they  had  taken  from  the  Taochians. 

[Shortly  afterwards  they  entered  a  country  whose  governor  sent 
them  a  guide,  with  the  offer  to  conduct  them  to  the  sea,  but  with  the 
secret  desire  to  have  them  lay  waste  the  country  of  his  enemies,  which 
lay  in  their  line  of  march.] 

The  fifth  day  they  arrived  at  the  holy  mountain  called 
Theches.  As  soon  as  the  men  who  were  in  the  vanguard 
ascended  the  mountain,  they  gave  a  great  shout,  which 
when  Xenophon  and  those  in  the  rear  heard,  they  con- 
cluded that  some  other  enemies  had  attacked  them  in  front, 
for  the  people  belonging  to  the  countr}'-  they  had  burned 
followed  their  rear.  .  .  . 

The  noise  still  increasing  as  they  came  nearer,  and  the 
men,  as  fast  as  they  came  up,  running  to  those  who  still 
continued  shouting,  their  cries  swelled  with  their  nimibers, 
so  that  Xenophon,  thinking  something  more  than  ordinary 
had  happened,  mounted  on  horseback,  and,  taking  with 
him  Lycius  and  his  horse,  rode  up  to  their  assistance. 

And  presently  they  heard  the  soldiers  calling.  "  The  Sea  ! 
The  Sea  !"  and  cheering  one  another.  At  this  they  all  set 
running,  the  rear-guard  as  well  as  the  rest,  and  the  beasts 
of  burden  and  horses  were  driven  forward.  When  they 
were  all  come  up  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  they  em- 
braced one  another,  and  also  their  generals  and  captains, 
I.  14 


158  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Anacreon 

with  tears  in  tlieir  eyes.  And  immediately  the  men, — by 
"vvhosc  order  it  is  not  known, — bringing  together  a  great 
many  stones,  made  a  hirge  mound,  upon  which  they  placed 
a  great  quantity  of  shields,  made  of  raw-hides,  staves,  and 
bucklers,  taken  from  the  enemy.  The  guide  himself  cut 
the  bucklers  in  pieces,  and  exhorted  the  rest  to  do  the 
same.  After  this  the  Greeks  sent  back  their  guide,  giving 
him  presents  out  of  the  public  stock ;  these  were  a  horse, 
a  silver  cup,  a  Persian  dress,  and  ten  daricks.*  But  above 
all  things  the  guide  desired  the  soldiers  to  give  him  some 
of  their  rings,  many  of  which  they  gave  him. 

[It  was  the  Black  Sea  they  had  discovered.  It  took  several  days' 
marching  and  some  severe  fighting  to  reach  it,  which  was  finally  done 
at  the  Greek  city  of  Trebizond.  Fifteen  months  had  passed  since  they 
bcgim  their  marcli  with  the  army  of  Cyrus.  Prom  this  point  they 
took  ship  for  home.  But  Xcnophon,  with  a  part  of  his  forces,  remained 
in  Asia  Minor  long  enough  to  conduct  a  pillaging  expedition,  in  which 
he  acquired  sufficient  wealth  to  enrich  him  for  the  remainder  of  his 
days.] 


LAYS  OF  LOVE  AND  V/INE. 

(ASCRIBED    TO)    ANACREON. 

[The  world-famed  poet  of  love  and  wine,  Anacreon  the  merry,  was 
horn  at  Teos,  in  Ionia,  about  662  B.C.  His  country  being  conquered  by 
the  Persians,  he,  with  his  fellow-citizens,  left  it,  and  formed  a  settle- 
ment at  Abdera,  in  Thrace.  Here  the  fame  of  Anacreon  so  extended 
that  he  was  invited  by  Polycrates,  tyrant  of  Samos,  to  visit  his  court. 
He  accepted  the  invitation,  and  remained  there,  greatly  honored,  for 
eighteen  years,  till  the  death  of  the  monarch.  He  was  then  invited  to 
Athens,  and,  accepting,  was  conveyed  thither  in  the  state  galley.  Here 
some  of  his  finest  odes  were  written,  but  his  habits  of  inebriety  so  in- 
creased as  to  unfit  him  for  aught  but  voluptuous  enjoyment.     He  died 

*  A  Persian  gold  coin,  of  about  three  dollars  value. 


Anaceeon]         lavs  of  LOVE  AND    WINE.  159 

in  his  eighty-fifth  year.     A  questionable  legend  states  that  he  was 
choked  to  death  by  a  grape-seed  in  some  new  wine  he  was  drinking. 

Few  poets  have  been  more  the  delight  of  readers  than  Anacreon,  of 
whose  poems  Horace  says,— 

"Whatevei-  old  Anacreon  sung, 
However  tender  was  the  lay, 
In  spite  of  time,  is  ever  3'oang." 

Unfortunately,  these  celebrated  poems  have  been  lost,  with  perhaps 
a  few  exceptions.  The  bulk  of  the  poems  hitherto  ascribed  to  Ana- 
creon are  now  believed  by  critics  to  be  imitations  of  his  style  by  later 
authors.  Some  of  these  are  of  great  beauty,  however,  and,  as  they 
have  long  been  identified  with  his  name,  we  quote  several  of  the  more 
famous.  Translations  have  been  made  by  various  authors :  those  by 
Thomas  Moore,  a  poet  of  very  similar  genius,  most  nearly  reproduce 
the  spirit  of  the  original.  The  poem  first  given  is  probably  Anacreon's 
own  work.] 

CUPID   WOUNDED. 

Once,  as  Cupid,  tired  with  play, 

On  a  bed  of  roses  lay, 

A  rude  bee,  that  slept  unseen 

The  sweet-breathing  buds  between, 

Stung  his  fingers,  cruel  chance  ! 

"With  his  little  pointed  lance. 

Straight  he  fills  the  air  with  cries, 

Weeps  and  sobs,  and  runs  and  flies  ; 

Till  the  god  to  Yenus  came, 

Lovely,  laughter-loving  dame ; 

Then  he  thus  began  to  plain: 

"  Oh  !  undone,  I  die  with  pain ! — 

Dear  mamma,  a  serpent  small, 

Which  a  bee  the  ploughmen  call, 

Imped  with  wings,  and  armed  with  dart. 

Oh !  has  stung  me  to  the  heart." 

Yenus  thus  replied,  and  smiled : 

"  Dry  those  tears,  for  shame  !  my  child  ; 


160  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Anacreon 

If  a  bee  can  wound  so  deep, 

Causing  Cupid  thus  to  weep, 

Think,  oh,  think  what  cruel  pains 

He  that's  stung  by  thee  sustains!" 

Fawkes. 

the  triumphs  of  wine. 

"When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep. 

Every  sorrow's  lulled  to  sleep  ; 

Talk  of  monarchs !  I  am  then 

Eichest,  hajjpiest,  first  of  men ; 

Careless  o'er  my  cup  I  sing. 

Fancy  makes  me  more  than  king. 

Give  me  wealthy  Croesus'  store, 

Can  I,  can  I  wish  for  more  ? 

On  my  velvet  couch  reclining, 

Ivy-wreaths  my  brow  entwining. 

While  my  soul  dilates  with  glee. 

What  are  kings  and  crowns  to  me  ? 

If  before  my  feet  they  lay, 

I  would  spurn  them  all  away. 

Arm  you  !  arm  you !  men  of  might ; 

Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight ; 

Let  me,  O  my  budding  vine, 

Spill  no  other  blood  than  thine ; 

Yonder  brimming  goblet  see, 

That  alone  shall  vanquish  me ; 

Oh,  I  think  it  sweeter  far 

To  fall  in  banquet  than  in  war ! 

Moore. 

CUPID    SWALLOWED. 

As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers. 
To  cull  a  wreath  of  matin  flowers. 
Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping 
I  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping. 


Anacreon]         lays  of  LOVE  AND    WINE.  161 

I  caught  the  boy;  a  goblet's  tide 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side  ; 
I  caught  him  by  his  downy  wing, 
And  whelmed  him  in  the  racy  spring ; 
Oh,  then  I  drank  the  poisoned  bowl. 
And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  soul. 
Yes,  yes,  my  soul  is  Cupid's  nest, 
I  feel  him  fluttering  in  my  breast. 


Moore. 


THE    GRASSHOPPER. 


Happy  insect!  what  can  be 
In  happiness  compared  to  thee? 
Fed  with  nourishment  divine, 
The  dewj'"  morning's  gentle  wine! 
ligature  waits  upon  thee  still, 
And  thy  verdant  cup  doth  fill ; 
'Tis  filled  wherever  thou  dost  tread, 
Nature's  self's  thy  G-anymede. 
Thou  dost  drink,  and  dance,  and  sing, 
Happier  than  the  happiest  king ! 
All  the  fields  which  thou  dost  see. 
All  the  plants,  belong  to  thee  ; 
All  that  summer  hours  produce, 
Fertile  made  with  early  juice. 
Man  for  thee  does  sow  and  plough  ; 
Farmer  he,  and  landlord  thou ! 
Thou  dost  innocently  joy ; 
Nor  does  thy  luxury  destroy  ; 
The  shepherd  gladly  heareth  thee, 
3Iore  harmonious  than  he. 
Thee  country  hinds  with  gladness  hear, 
Prophet  of  the  ripened  year ! 
Thee  Phoebus  loves,  and  does  inspire ; 
Phosbus  is  himself  thy  sire. 
I.— I  14* 


162  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Anacreok 

To  thee,  of  all  things  upon  earth, 

Life's  no  longer  than  thy  mu-th. 

Haj)py  insect,  happy,  thou 

Dost  neither  age  nor  winter  know  ; 

But  when  thou'st  drunk  and  danced  and  sung 

Thy  fill,  the  flowery  leaves  among 

(Voluptuous  and  wise  withal. 

Epicurean  aniinal!). 

Sated  with  thy  summer  feast, 

Thou  retir'st  to  endless  rest. 

Cowley. 

TO    A   PAINTER. 

Best  of  painters,  now  dispense 
All  thy  tinted  eloquence  : 
Master  of  the  roseate  art, 
Paint  the  mistress  of  my  heart. 
Paint  her,  absent  though  she  be, 
Paint  her  as  described  by  me. 

Paint  her  hair  in  tresses  flowing. 
Black  as  jet  its  ringlets  glowing : 
If  the  pallet  soar  as  high. 
Paint  their  humid  fragrancy. 
Let  the  color  smoothly  show 
The  gentle  prominence  of  brow ; 
Smooth  as  ivory  let  it  shine, 
Under  locks  of  glossy  twine. 

Now  her  eyebrows  length'ning  bend ; 
Neither  sever  them  nor  blend ; 
Lnperceptible  the  space 
Of  their  meeting  arches  trace  : 
Be  the  picture  like  the  maid, 
Her  dark  eyelids  fringed  with  shade. 

Now  the  real  glance  inspire ; 
Let  it  dart  a  liquid  fire : 


-BlON]  LAYS   OF  LOVE  AND    WINE.  163 

Let  her  eyes  reflect  the  day, 

Like  Minerva's,  hazel  gray, 

Like  those  of  Venus,  swimming  bright, 

Brimful  of  moisture  and  of  light. 

Now  her  faultless  nose  design 
In  its  flowing  aquiline ; 
Let  her  cheeks  transparent  gleam. 
Like  to  roses  strewed  in  cream ; 
Let  her  lips  seduce  to  bliss, 
Pouting  to  provoke  the  kiss. 

l^ow  her  chin  minute  express, 

Eounded  into  prettiness : 

There  let  all  the  Grraces  play. 

In  that  dimpled  circle  stray ; 

Hounded  her  bended  neck  delay, — 

Marble  pillar,  on  the  sight 

Shedding  smooth  its  slippery  white. 

For  the  rest,  let  drapery  swim 

In  j)urplish  folds  o'er  every  limb  ; 

But  with  flimsy  texture  show 

The  shape,  the  skin,  that  partial  glow  : 

Enough — herself  appears  ;  'tis  done  : 

The  picture  breathes,  'twill  speak  anon. 

Elton. 

[To  the  above  we  add  a  brace  of  Anacreontic  odes  of  known  au- 
thorship, selected  from  the  many  songs  of  this  light  character  which 
exist  in  Greek  literature.] 


THE   TEACHER    TAUGHT. 
BION. 

As  late  I  slumbering  lay,  before  my  sight 
Bright  Yenus  rose  in  visions  of  the  night : 


164  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Meleager 

She  led  young  Cupid  ;  as  in  thought  j)rofound, 

His  modest  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  ground ; 

And  thus  she  spoke :  "  To  thee,  dear  swain,  I  bring 

My  httle  son;  instruct  the  bo}^  to  sing." 

No  more  she  said,  but  vanished  into  air, 

And  left  the  wily  pupil  to  my  care  : 

I — sure  I  was  an  idiot  for  ni}^  pains — 

Began  to  teach  him  old  bucolic  sti'ains, 

How  Pan  the  pipe,  how  Pallas  formed  the  flute, 

Phoebus  the  lyre,  and  Mercury  the  lute  : 

Love,  to  my  lessons  quite  regardless  grown, 

Sang  lighter  lays,  and  sonnets  of  his  own, 

Th'  amours  of  men  below,  and  gods  above, 

And  all  the  triumphs  of  the  Queen  of  Love. 

I — sure  the  simplest  of  all  shepherd  swains — 

Full  soon  forgot  my  old  bucolic  strains ; 

The  lighter  lays  of  love  my  fancy  caught. 

And  I  remembered  all  that  Cupid  taught. 

Fawkes. 

MUSIC   AND    BExiUTY. 
MELEAGEK. 

By  the  God  of  Arcadia,  so  sweet  are  the  notes 
Which  tremulous  ftill  from  my  Rhodope's  lyre, 

Such  melody  swells  in  her  voice,  as  it  floats 

On  the  soft  midnight  air,  that  my  soul  is  on  fire. 

Oh,  where  can  I  fly  ?     The  young  Cupids  around  me 
Gayly  spread  their  light  wings,  all  my  footsteps  pursuing; 

Her  eyes  dart  a  thousand  fierce  lustres  to  wound  me, 
And  music  and  beauty  conspire  my  undoing. 

Meeivale. 

[A  graceful  little  poem,  translated  by  Edwin  Arnold,  and  believed 
by  him  to  be  of  Anacreon's  own  authorship,  we  here  append.] 


QuiNTiLiAN]        THE  HUMOR    OF  ORATORY.  165 


ALL    THINGS   DRINK. 

The  black  earth  tipples  rain, 

The  earth  is  sucked  by  trees, 
The  seas  the  rivers  drain. 

The  sun  drinks  up  the  seas, 
And  the  moon  drinks  the  sun  : 
"Why,  then,  will  any  one 
Contend  with  me,  who  think 
That  all  the  world  should  drink  ? 


THE  HUMOR  OF  ORATORY. 

QUINTILIAN. 

[M.  Fabius  Quintilian,  the  famous  rhetorician  of  Eome,  was,  like 
Martial,  Lucan,  and  the  two  Senecas,  a  native  of  Spain,  being  born 
(40  A.D.)  at  Calagurris  (the  modern  Calahorra).  He  studied  oratory 
at  Rome,  and  acquired  considerable  reputation  as  an  advocate.  His 
principal  distinction,  however,  was  as  a  teacher  of  oratorj',  his  school 
being  highly  popular.  The  literary  reputation  of  Quintilian  is  founded 
on  his  "  Institutio  Oratoria,"  or  Complete  Instructor  in  the  Art  of 
Oratory.  This  work  is  of  the  highest  value,  and  is  greatly  superior 
to  that  of  Cicero  on  the  same  subject.  It  is  unusualty  comprehen- 
sive, covering  the  whole  field  of  instruction  in  the  art,  from  the  cradle 
to  the  rostrum,  and  all  its  related  subjects.  In  the  opening  of  the 
tenth  book  is  given  a  brief  but  clear  survey  of  the  whole  course  of 
Greek  and  Eoman  literature,  which  has  always  been  admired  for  its 
correctness  and  animation.  The  critical  ability  displayed  in  this  part 
of  the  treatise  is  of  the  highest  grade.  The  entire  work,  in  fact,  is 
marked  by  sound  critical  judgment,  purity  of  taste,  and  thorough  famil- 
iarity with  the  literature  of  oratory.  Besides  the  "  Institutio  Oratoria" 
there  have  been  attributed  to  Quintilian  a  series  of  one  hundred  and 
sixty-fovir  declamations,  which  are  no  longer  considered  to  be  his,  and 
an  anonymous  work,  "  Dialogus  de  Oratoribus,"  now  usually  ascribed 


166  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.        [Quintilian 

to  Tacitus.      We  select  from  Guthrie's  translation  a  portion  of  our 
author's  remarks  on  the  humor  of  oratory.] 


I  AM  now  to  treat  of  a  matter  quite  the  reverse  of  that 
I  discussed  in  the  last  cliapter, — I  mean,  the  manner  of 
dissipating  melancholy  impressions,  of  unbending  the  mind 
from  too  intense  application,  of  renewing  its  powers  and 
recruiting  its  strength  after  being  surfeited  and  fatigued. 

Now,  we  may  be  sensible,  from  the  examples  of  the  two 
great  fathers  of  Greek  and  Eoman  eloquence,  how  difficult 
a  matter  this  is,  for  it  is  generally  thought  that  Demos- 
thenes had  no  talent,  and  Cicero  no  bounds,  in  raising 
laughter.  The  truth  is,  Demosthenes  was  not  at  all  averse 
from  attempting  it,  as  appears  by  the  instances  of  that 
kind  which  he  left  behind  him ;  which,  though  very  few, 
are  far  from  being  answerable  to  his  other  excellences. 
Few,  however,  as  they  are,  they  show  that  he  liked  jocu- 
larity, but  that  he  had  not  the  power  of  hitting  it  off.  But 
as  to  our  countryman  Cicero,  he  was  thought  to  affect  it 
too  much,  for  it  not  only  entered  into  his  common  discourse, 
but  into  his  most  solemn  pleadings.  For  my  part,  call  it 
want  of  judgment  or  prepossession  in  favor  of  the  most 
eloquent  of  mankind,  I  think  Cicero  had  a  wonderful  share 
of  delicate  wit.  No  other  man  ever  said  so  many  good 
things  as  he  did  in  ordinary  conversation,  in  debating,  and 
in  examining  of  witnesses ;  and  he  artfully  throws  into 
the  mouths  of  others  all  his  insipid  jokes  concerning 
Yerres,  and  brings  them  as  so  many  evidences  of  the 
notoriety  of  the  charges  against  him ;  thereby  intimating 
that  the  more  vulgar  they  were,  it  was  the  more  probable 
they  were  the  language  of  the  jDublic,  and  not  invented  to 
serve  the  purposes  of  the  orator.  I  wish,  however,  that  his 
freedman  Tyvo,  or  whoever  he  was  that  collected  the  three 
books  of  his  jokes,  had  been  a  little  more  sparing  in  pub- 


QuiNTiLiAN]        THE  HUMOR   OF  ORATORY.  167 

lisliing  the  good  tilings  he  said,  and  that  in  choosing  them 
he  had  been  as  judicious  as  in  compiling  them  he  was  in- 
dustrious. The  compiler  then  had  been  less  liable  to  criti- 
cism ;  and  yet  the  book,  even  as  it  has  come  to  our  hands, 
discovers  the  characteristics  of  Cicero's  genius ;  for,  how- 
ever you  may  retrench  from  it,  you  can  add  nothing 
to  it. 

Several  things  concur  to  render  this  manner  extremely 
difficult.  In  the  first  place,  all  ridicule  has  in  it  something 
that  is  buffoonish  ;  that  is,  something  that  is  low,  and  often- 
times purposely  rendered  mean.  In  the  next  place,  it  is 
never  attended  with  dignity,  and  people  are  apt  to  construe 
it  in  different  senses ;  because  it  is  not  judged  by  any  cri- 
terion of  reason,  but  by  a  certain  unaccountable  impression 
which  it  makes  upon  the  hearer.  I  call  it  unaccountable, 
because  many  have  endeavored  to  account  for  it,  but,  I 
think,  without  success.  Here  is  it  that  a  laugh  may  arise, 
not  only  from  an  action  or  saying,  but  even  the  very  motion 
of  the  body  may  raise  it ;  add  to  this,  that  there  are  many 
different  motives  for  laughter.  For  we  laugh  not  only  at 
actions  and  sayings  that  are  witty  and  pleasant,  but  such 
as  are  stupid,  passionate,  and  cowardly.  It  is,  therefore, 
of  a  motley  composition ;  for  very  often  we  laugh  with  a 
man  as  well  as  laugh  at  him.  For,  as  Cicero  observes, 
"  the  province  of  ridiculousness  consists  in  a  certain  mean- 
ness and  deformity."  The  manner  that  points  them  out 
is  termed  wit  or  urbanity.  If  while  we  are  pointing  them 
out  we  make  ourselves  ridiculous,  it  is  termed  folly.  Even 
the  slightest  matter,  when  it  comes  from  a  buffoon,  an  actoi-, 
— nay,  a  dunce, — may,  notwithstanding,  carry  with  it  an 
effect  that  I  may  call  irresistible,  and  such  as  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  us  to  guard  against.  The  pleasure  it  gives  us  bursts 
from  us  even  against  our  will,  and  appears  not  only  in 
the  expression  of  our  looks  and  our  voices,  but  is  powerful 


168  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Quintilian 

enough  to  shake  even  the  whole  frame  of  our  body.  Yery 
often,  as  I  have  already  observed,  one  touch  of  the  ridiculous 
may  give  a  turn  to  the  most  serious  affairs.  We  have  an 
instance  of  this  in  some  young  Tarentines,  who,  having  at 
an  entertainment  made  very  free  with  the  character  of 
King  Pyrrhus,  were  next  morning  examined  before  him 
upon  what  they  had  said,  which,  though  they  durst  not 
defend  and  could  not  deny,  yet  they  escajjed  by  a  well- 
turned  joke:  "Sir,"  said  one  of  them,  "if  our  liquor  had 
not  failed  us  we  would  have  murdered  you."  This  turn 
of  wit  at  once  cancelled  all  the  guilt  they  were  charged 
with.  .  .  . 

We  may  either  act  or  speak  ridicule.  Sometimes  a  grave 
way  of  doing  an  arch  thing  occasions  groat  ridicule.  Thus, 
when  the  consul  Isaui'icus  had  broken  the  cui-ulo  chair- 
belonging  to  the  praetor  Marcus  Coelius,  the  latter  erected 
another  chair,  slung  upon  leather  straps,  because  it  was 
notorious  that  the  consul,  on  a  time,  had  been  strapped  by 
his  father.  Sometimes  ridicule  attacks  objects  that  are 
past  all  sense  of  shame ;  for  instance,  the  adventure  of  the 
casket,  mentioned  by  Cicero  in  his  pleading  for  Coelius. 
But  that  was  so  scandalous  a  thing  that  no  one  in  his 
senses  could  enlarge  upon  it.  We  may  make  the  same 
observation  when  there  is  anything  droll  in  the  look  or 
the  manner ;  for  the}''  may  bo  extremely  diverting,  but 
never  so  much  so  as  when  they  appear  to  be  very  serious. 
For  nothing  is  so  stupid  as  to  see  a  man  always  upon  the 
titter,  and,  as  it  were,  beating  up  for  a  laugh.  But,  al- 
though a  grave,  serious  look  and  manner  add  greatly  to 
ridicule,  by  the  person  remaining  quite  serious,  yet  still  it 
may  be  assisted  by  the  looks  and  the  powers  of  the  face, 
and  a  certain  pleasing  adjustment  of  one's  whole  gesture ; 
but  always  remember  never  to  overdo. 

As  to  the  ridicule  that  consists  in  words,  its  character  is 


Quintilian]        the  humor   OF  ORATORY.  169 

either  that  of  wantonness  or  joUit}^,  as  we  generally  saw 
in  Galba ;  or  cutting,  such  as  the  late  Junius  Bassus  pos- 
sessed; or  blunt  and  rough,  like  the  manner  of  Cassius  Se- 
verus ;  or  winning  and  delicate,  like  that  of  Domitius  Afer. 
The  place  where  we  employ  those  different  manners  is  of 
great  importance,  for  at  entertainments  and  in  common 
discourse  the  vulgar  are  wanton,  but  all  mankind  may  be 
cheerful.  Meanwhile,  let  all  malice  be  removed,  and  let 
us  never  adopt  that  maxim,  "  rather  to  lose  our  friend  than 
our  jest."  Yfith  regard  to  our  practice  at  the  bar,  if  1 
were  to  employ  any  of  the  manners  I  have  mentioned,  it 
should  be  that  of  the  gentle,  delicate  kind.  Though  at  the 
same  time  we  are  allowed  to  employ  the  most  reproachful 
and  cutting  expressions  against  our  adversaries ;  but  that 
is  in  the  case  of  capital  impeachments,  when  justice  is 
demanded  upon  an  offender.  But  even  in  that  case  we 
think  it  inhuman  to  insult  the  misery  or  the  fallen  state 
of  another,  for  such  are  generally  less  to  blame  than  they 
are  represented,  and  insults  may  recoil  upon  the  head  of 
the  person  who  employs  them. 

We  are  in  the  first  place,  therefore,  to  consider  who 
the  person  is  that  speaks,  what  is  the  cause,  who  is  the 
judge,  who  is  the  party,  and  what  are  the  expressions.  An 
orator  ought  by  all  means  to  avoid  every  distortion  of  look 
and  gesture  employed  by  comedians  to  raise  a  laugh.  All 
farcical  theatrical  pei'tness  is  likewise  utterly  inconsistent 
with  the  character  of  an  orator ;  and  he  ought  to  be  so  far 
from  expressing,  that  he  ought  not  to  intimate,  anything 
that  is  offensive  to  modesty.  Nay,  though  he  should  have 
an  opportunity  to  expose  it,  it  may  be  sohietimes  more 
proper  to  pass  it  over. 

Further,  though  I  think  the  manner  of  an  orator  ought 
at  all  times  to  be  elegant  and  genteel,  yet  he  should  by  no 
means  affect  being  thought  a  wit.     He  should  not,  there- 
I. — H  15 


170  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Quintilian 

fore,  be  always  witty  when  he  can,  and  he  ought  some- 
times to  sacrifice  his  jest  to  his  character.  What  indig- 
nation does  it  give  ns  in  a  trial  upon  atrocious  crimes,  to 
hear  a  pleader  breaking  his  jokes,  or  an  advocate  merry, 
while  he  is  speaking  in  defence  of  the  miserable ! 

Besides,  we  are  to  reflect  that  some  judges  are  of  so 
serious  a  cast  as  not  to  endure  anything  that  may  raise  a 
laugh.  Sometimes  it  hapjDcns  that  the  reproach  we  aim 
at  our  opponent  hits  the  judge  himself,  or  suits  our  own 
client.  And  some  are  so  foolish  that  they  cannot  refrain 
from  expressions  that  recoil  upon  themselves.  This  was 
the  case  with  Longus  Sulpicius,  who,  being  himself  a  very 
ugly  fellow,  and  pleading  a  cause  that  affected  the  liberty 
of  another  person,  said,  "Nature  had  not  given  that  man  the 
face  of  a  free  man."  "  Then,"  replies  Domitius  Afer  to  him, 
"  you  are  in  your  soul  and  conscience  of  opinion  that  every 
man  Avho  has  an  ugly  face  ought  to  be  a  slave?".  .  . 

It  is,  however,  extremely  difficult  to  point  out  all  the 
different  manners  of  raising  a  laugh,  and  the  occasions 
that  furnish  it.  IS'ay,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  trace  all 
the  different  sources  of  ridicvile.  In  general,  however,  a 
laugh  may  be  raised  either  from  the  personal  appearance 
of  an  opponent,  or  from  his  understanding,  as  it  appears 
by  his  words  and  actions,  or  from  exterior  circumstances. 
Those,  I  say,  are  the  three  sources  of  all  vilifying,  which, 
if  urged  with  acrimony,  become  serious ;  if  with  pleas- 
antry, ridiculous.  ISTow,  all  the  ridicule  I  have  mentioned 
arises  either  from  exposition,  narrative,  or  characterizing. 

Sometimes,  but  seldom,  it  happens  that  an  object  of  ridi- 
cule actually  presents  itself  upon  the  spot.  This  happened 
to  Caius  Julius,  who  told  Ilclmius  Mancia,  who  was  deafen- 
ing the  whole  court  with  his  bawling,  that  he  would  show 
him  what  he  resembled.  The  other  challenging  him  to 
make  good  his  promise,  Julius  pointed  with  his  finger  to 


QuiNTiLiAN]        THE  HUMOR    OF  ORATORY.  171 

the  distorted  figure  of  a  Gaul,  painted  upon  tlie  shield  of 
Marius,  which  was-  set  up  as  a  sign  to  one  of  the  booths 
that  stood  round  the  forum,  and  in  fact  was  very  like 
Mancia.  The  narrative  of  imaginary  circumstances  may 
be  managed  with  the  greatest  delicacy  and  oratorical  art : 
witness  Cicero's  narrative  concerning  Cepasius  and  Fabri- 
cius,  in  his  pleading  for  Cluentius;  and  the  manner  in 
which  Marcus  Ccelius  represents  the  race  run  between 
Cains  Loelius  and -his  colleague,  which  should  get  first  to 
his  province.  But  all  such  recitals  require  every  elegant, 
every  genteel  touch  the  orator  can  give  them;  and  the 
whole  must  be  brought  vi^  with  the  most  delicate  humor. 
How  much  ridicule  does  Cicero  apply  to  the  retreat  of 
Fabricius  !  "  Thus  he  thought  himself  doing  mighty  mat- 
ters, while  he  was,  from  his  magazines  of  eloquence,  play- 
ing off  those  most  pathetic  expressions,  '  Look  back  upon 
the  mutability  of  fortune ;  look  back  to  the  variety  and 
alterations  to  which  human  life  is  subject ;  look  back  upon 
the  old  age  of  Fabricius.'  JSTow,  vfhen  he  came  to  the  last 
'  look  back,'  which  he  had  so  often  repeated  to  embellish 
his  discourse,  he  '  looked  back'  himself ;  but  by  this  time 
Fabricius  had  stolen  out  of  court."  And  what  follows  is 
in  the  same  strain;  for  the  passage  is  well  known.  All 
this  high  finish  did  not  contain  a  word  that  was  fact,  more 
than  that  Fabricius  had  left  the  court. 

[To  the  above  we  may  add  one  of  the  most  eloquently  pathetic  pas- 
sages in  all  ancient  literature,  descriptive  of  Quintilian's  sorrow  for  the 
loss  of  his  wife  and  sons, — the  former  having  died  when  still  very 
young.  It  was  for  the  instruction  of  the  son  here  so  feelingly  mourned 
that  his  work  on  oratory  was  written.] 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    HIS    SON. 

I  had  a  son  whose  eminent  genius  deserved  a  father's 
anxious  diligence.     I  thought  that  if — what  I  might  fairly 


172  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Quintilian 

have  expected  and  wished  for — death  had  removed  me 
from  him,  I  could  have  left  him,  as  his  best  inheritance, 
a  father's  instructions.  But  by  a  second  blow,  a  second 
bereavement,  I  have  lost  the  object  of  my  highest  hopes, 
the  only  comfort  of  my  declining  years.  What  shall  I  do 
now?  Of  what  use  can  1  suppose  myself  to  be,  as  the 
gods  have  cast  me  off?  What  tender  parent  would  pardon 
me  if  I  were  able  to  study  any  longer  and  not  hate  my 
firmness  of  mind ;  if  I,  who  survived  all  my  dear  ones, 
could  find  any  employment  for  my  tongue  except  to  accuse 
the  gods,  and  to  protest  that  no  Providence  looks  down 
upon  the  affairs  of  men  ? 

In  my  younger  son,  who  died  at  five  years  old,  I  lost  one 
light  of  my  eyes.  I  have  no  ambition  to  make  much  of 
my  misfortunes,  or  to  exaggerate  the  reasons  which  I  have 
for  sorrow  :  would  that  I  had  means  of  assuaging  it !  But 
how  can  I  conceal  his  lovely  countenance,  his  endearing 
talk,  his  sparkling  wit,  and  (what  I  feel  can  scarcely  be 
believed)  his  calm  and  deep  solidity  of  mind?  Had  he 
been  another's  child  he  would  have  won  my  love  ;  but  in- 
sidious fortune,  in  order  to  inflict  upon  me  severer  anguish, 
made  him  more  affectionate  to  me  than  to  his  nurses,  his 
grandmother,  who  brought  him  up,  and  all  who  usually 
gain  the  attachment  of  children  of  that  age. 

Thankful,  therefore,  do  I  feel  for  the  sorrow  in  which 
but  a  few  months  before  I  was  plunged  by  the  loss  of  his 
matchless,  his  inestimable  mother,  for  my  lot  was  less  a 
subject  for  tears  than  hers  was  for  rejoicing.  Our  only 
hope,  support,  and  consolation  had  remained  in  our  Quin- 
tilian. He  had  not,  like  my  younger  son,  just  put  forth 
his  early  blossoms,  but  entering  on  his  tenth  year  had 
shown  mature  and  well-set  fruit.  I  swear  by  my  misfor- 
tunes, by  the  consciousness  of  my  unhappiness,  by  those 
departed  spirits,  the  deities  who  preside  over  my  grief,  that 


Various]  LATIN  EPIC  POETRY.  173 

in  him  I  discerned  such  vigor  of  intellect,  not  only  in  the 
acquisition  of  learning  (and  yet  in  all  my  extensive  experi- 
ence I  never  saw  it  surpassed),  such  a  zeal  for  study,  which, 
as  his  tutors  can  testify,  never  required  pressing,  but  also 
such  uprightness,  filial  affection,  refinement,  and  generosity, 
as  furnished  grounds  for  apprehending  the  thundei'-stroke 
that  has  fallen.  For  it  is  generally  observed  that  a  pre- 
cocious maturity  too  quickly  perishes  ;  and  there  is  I  know 
not  what  envious  power  which  deflowers  our  brightest 
hopes,  lest  we  soar  higher  than  human  beings  are  permitted 
to  soar.  He  possessed  also  those  gifts  which  are  accidental, 
— a  clear  and  melodious  voice,  a  sweet  pronunciation,  a  cor- 
rect enunciation  of  every  letter  both  in  Greek  and  Latin. 

Such  promise  did  he  give  of  future  excellence ;  but  he 
possessed  also  the  far  higher  qiialities  of  constancy,  earn- 
estness, and  firmness  to  bear  sorrow  and  to  resist  fear. 
With  what  admiration  did  his  physician  contemplate  the 
patience  with  which  he  endured  a  malady  of  eight  months' 
duration!  What  consolation  did  he  administer  to  me  in 
his  last  moments !  When  life  and  intellect  began  to  fail, 
his  wandering  mind  dwelt  on  literature  alone.  O  dear- 
est  object  of  my  disappointed  hopes !  could  I  behold  thy 
glazing  eyes,  thy  fleeting  breath,  could  I  embrace  thy 
cold  and  lifeless  form,  and  live  to  drink  again  the  common 
air?  Well  do  I  deserve  those  agonizing  thoughts,  those 
tortures  which  I  endure ! 


LATIN  EPIC  POETRY. 

VARIOUS. 

[In  addition  to  the  "^neid,"  the  great  work  of  Yirgil,  we  possess 

epic  poems  hy  two  other  Latin  authors  of  merit,  Lucan  and  Statins. 

Of  these  two  writers  by  fiir  the  superior  is  Lucan  (M.  Annasus  Lu- 

canus),  author  of  the  "  Pharsalia."    He  was  born  at  Cordova,  in  Spain, 

I.  15'- 


174  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucan 

in  39  A.D.,  and  was  a  nephew  of  the  philosopher  Seneca.  Being  brought 
while  young  to  Kome,  he  became  a  friend  of  the  emperor  Nero,  but 
finally  sutiered  from  the  jealousy  of  this  tyrant,  to  whom  his  reputation 
as  a  poet  gave  oflence.  Embittered  by  the  persecution  of  the  emperor, 
Lucan  joined  a  conspiracy  against  him,  and  ^vas  arrested  and  con- 
demned to  death.     His  death  occurred  in  his  twenty-seventh  year. 

Lucan's  "  Pharsalia"  is  an  epic  poem  in  two  books,  its  subject  being 
the  civil  Avar  between  Ciesar  and  Pompey.  It  has  many  faults  as  a 
poem,  yet  displays  much  originality  of  handling  and  fine  character- 
drawing,  with  a  fluent  imagination.  It  possesses,  moreover,  an  epi- 
grammatic felicity  which  has  secured  to  many  of  its  lines  a  constant 
freshness  as  part  of  the  familiarly  remembered  literature  of  the  world. 
From  Kowe's  translation  we  select  the  finely-drawn  contrast  of  Pompey 
and  Ca?5ar,  the  heroes  of  the  poem.] 

Nor  came  the  rivals  equal  to  the  field : 
One  to  increasing  years  began  to  yield ; 
Old  age  came  creeping  in  the  peaceful  gown, 
And  civil  functions  weighed  the  soldier  down ; 
Disused  to  arms,  he  turned  him  to  the  laws, 
And  pleased  himself  with  popular  ap2:)lause ; 
With  gifts  and  liberal  bounty  sought  for  fame, 
And  loved  to  hear  the  vulgar  shout  his  name ; 
In  his  own  theatre  rejoiced  to  sit, 
Amidst  the  noisy  praises  of  the  pit. 
Careless  of  future  ills  that  might  betide, 
No  aid  he  sought  to  prop  his  failing  side, 
But  on  his  former  fortune  much  relied. 
Still  seemed  he  to  possess  and  fill  his  place ; 
But  stood  the  shadow  of  what  once  he  was. 
So  in  the  field  with  Ceres'  bounty  spread 
XJprears  some  ancient  oak  his  reverend  head ; 
Chaplets  and  sacred  gifts  his  boughs  adorn, 
And  spoils  of  war  by  mighty  heroes  worn. 
But,  the  first  vigor  of  his  root  now  gone. 
He  stands  dependent  on  his  Aveight  alone ; 


JULIUS  C/ESAR. 


LucAN]  LATIN  EPIC  POETRY.  175 

All  bare  his  naked  branches  are  displayed, 
And  with  his  leafless  trunk  he  forms  a  shade : 
Yet  though  the  winds  his  ruin  daily  threat, 
As  every  blast  would  heave  him  from  his  seat, 
Though  thousand  foirer  trees  the  field  sujjplies, 
That  rich  in  youthful  verdure  round  him  rise, 
Fixed  in  his  ancient  scat  he  yields  to  none. 
And  wears  the  honors  of  the  grove  alone. 

But  Csesar's  greatness  and  his  strength  was  more 
Than  past  renown,  and  aij,tiquated  power  : 
'Twas  not  the  fame  of  what  he  once  had  been, 
Or  tales  in  old  records  and  annals  seen ; 
But  'twas  a  valor,  restless,  unconfined, 
Which  no  success  could  sate,  nor  limits  bind ; 
'Twas  shame,  a  soldier's  shame  untaught  to  yield, 
That  blushed  for  nothing  but  an  ill-fought  field. 
Fierce  in  his  hopes  he  was,  nor  knew  to  stay, 
Where  vengeance  or  ambition  led  the  way ; 
Still  prodigal  of  war  whene'er  withstood, 
ISTor  spared  to  stain  the  guilty  sword  with  blood  ; 
Urging  advantage  he  improved  all  odds. 
And  made  the  most  of  fortune  and  the  gods, 
Pleased  to  o'erturn  whate'er  withheld  his  prize, 
And  saw  the  ruin  with  rejoicing  eyes. 
Such,  while  earth  trembles,  jpd  heav'n  thunders  loud. 
Darts  the  swift  lightning  from  the  rending  cloud ; 
Fierce  through  the  day  it  breaks,  and  in  its  flight 
The  dreadful  blast  confounds  the  gazer's  sight, 
Resistless  in  its  course  delights  to  rove. 
And  cleaves  the  temples  of  its  master  Jove : 
Alike  where'er  it  passes  or  returns. 
With  equal  rage  the  fell  destroyer  burns. 
Then  with  a  whirl  full  in  its  strength  retires. 
And  re-collects  the  force  of  all  its  scattered  fires. 


176  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucan 

[After  thus  describing  the  leaders  of  the  opposing  causes,  tlie  poet 
proceeds  to  picture  the  first  great  event  of  the  war,  the  invasion  of 
Italy.  Caesar  leads  his  army  across  the  Eubicon,  the  small  stream  that 
constitutes  the  Italian  boundary  of  his  province,  and  the  crossing  of 
which  on  his  part  is  equivalent  to  a  declaration  of  war  against  the 
authorities  at  Kome.  The  story  of  this  event  is  told  in  a  highly  effec- 
tive manner,  and  the  apparition  of  the  Genius  of  Eome  is  excellently 
rendered.] 

Now  Ciesar,  marching  swift  with  winged  haste, 
The  summits  of  the  frozen  Alps  has  passed, 
"With  vast  events  and  enterprises  fraught. 
And  future  wars  revolving  in  his  thought. 
!Now  near  the  banks  of  Rubicon  he  stood ; 
When,  lo !  as  he  surveyed  the  narrow  flood, 
Amidst  the  dusky  horrors  of  the  night 
A  wondrous  vision  stood  confest  to  sight. 
Her  awful  head  Rome's  rev'rend  image  reared, 
Trembling  and  sad  the  matron  form  appeared ; 
A  tow'ry  crown  her  hoary  temples  bound, 
And  her  torn  tresses  rudely  hung  around : 
Her  naked  arms  uplifted  ere  she  sjjoke, 
Then  groaning,  thus  the  mournful  silence  broke. 
"  Presumptuous  men  !  oh,  whither  do  you  run  ? 
Oh,  whither  bear  you  these  my  ensigns  on? 
If  friends  to  right,  if  qjtizens  of  Rome, 
Here  to  your  utmost  barrier  are  you  come." 
She  said  ;  and  sunk  within  the  closing  shade  : 
Astonishment  and  dread  the  chief  invade  ; 
Stiff  rose  his  starting  hair,  he  stood  dismayed, 
And  on  the  bank  his  slackening  steps  were  stayed. 
"  O  thou"  (at  length  he  cried)  "whose  hand  controls 
The  forky  fire,  and  rattling  thunder  rolls ; 
Who  from  thy  capitol's  exalted  height 
Dost  o'er  the  wide-spread  city  cast  thy  sight ! 


Lucan]  latin  epic  POETRY.  177 

Ye  Phrygian  gods  who  guard  the  Julian  line ! 

Ye  mysteries  of  Eomulus  divine  ! 

Thou  Jove !  to  vs^hom  from  young  Ascanias  came 

Thy  Alban  temple  and  thy  Latial  name ! 

And  thou,  immortal  sacred  Vesper  Flame ! 

But  chief,  oh,  chiefly  thou,  majestic  Rome! 

My  first,  my  great  divinity,  to  whom 

Thy  still  successful  Caesar  am  I  come  ; 

Nor  do  thou  fear  the  sword's  destructive  rage : 

With  thee  my  arms  no  impious  war  shall  wage. 

On  him  thy  hate,  on  him  thy  curse  bestow 

AVho  would  persuade  thee  Casar  is  thy  foe  ; 

And,  since  to  thee  I  consecrate  my  toil, 

Oh,  favor  thou  my  cause,  and  on  thy  soldiers  smile." 

He  said ;  and  straight,  impatient  of  delay, 
Across  the  swelling  flood  pursued  his  way. 
So  when  on  sultry  Libya's  desert,  sand 
The  lion  spies  the  hunter  hard  at  hand. 
Couched  on  the  earth  the  doubtful  savage  lies. 
And  waits  awhile  till  all  his  fury  rise ; 
His  lashing  tail  provokes  his  swelling  sides. 
And  high  upon  his  neck  his  mane  with  horror  rides : 
Then  if  at  length  the  flying  dart  infest. 
Or  the  broad  spear  invade  his  ample  breast, 
Scorning  the  wound,  he  yawns  a  dreadful  roar, 
And  flies  like  lightning  on  the  hostile  Moor. 

While  with  hot  skies  the  fervent  summer  glows, 
The  Rubicon  an  humble  river  flows  ; 
Through  lowly  vales  he  cuts  his  winding  way. 
And  rolls  his  ruddy  waters  to  the  sea. 
His  bank  on  either  side  a  limit  stands 
Between  the  Gallic  and  Ausonian  lands. 
But  stronger  now  the  wintry  torrent  grows, 
The  wetting  winds  had  thawed  the  Alpine  snows, 
I. — m 


178  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Statius 

And  Cynthia,  rising  with  a  blunted  beam 

In  the  third  circle,  drove  her  wat'ry  team, 

A  signal  sure  to  raise  the  swelling  stream. 

For  this,  to  stem  the  rapid  water's  course, 

First  plunged  amidst  the  flood  the  bolder  horse ; 

With  strength  opposed  against  the  stream  they  lead, 

While  to  the  smoother  ford  the  foot  with  ease  succeed. 

The  leader  now  had  passed  the  torrent  oer, 
And  reached  fair  Italy's  forbidden  shore  : 
Then,  rearing  on  the  hostile  bank  his  head, 
"  Here  farewell  Peace,  and  injured  Laws"  (he  said). 
"  Since  ftiith  is  broke,  and  leagues  are  set  aside. 
Henceforth  thou  goddess  Fortune  art  my  guide : 
Let  Fate  and  War  the  great  event  decide." 

[The  other  epic  poet  named,  P.  Papinius  Statius,  was  the  son  of  a 
writer  of  the  same  name,  a  native  of  Naples.  He  was  born  about 
60  A.D.,  and  early  displayed  fine  poetic  ability.  He  basked  in  the  sun- 
shine of  imperial  favor,  partly  won  by  gross  flattery,  and  died  at  Naples 
about  95  A.D.  Little  more  is  known  of  his  liistoiy.  Twelve  years 
of  his  life  were  occupied  in  the  composition  and  revision  of  an  epic 
poem,  the  "Thebaid."  He  also  left  an  unfinished  epic,  called  the 
"  Achilleid."  But  his  fiime  rests  chiefly  on  a  series  of  minor  poems 
entitled  "Sylvte."  Statius  had  not  the  grasp  nor  the  imaginative 
vigor  necessary  to  success  in  epic  poetry.  His  efforts  in  this  direc- 
tion are  bombastic  and  formal,  the  characters  have  little  interest,  and 
the  general  efl'ect  of  the  work,  notwithstanding  its  occasional  beauty 
and  its  close  observance  of  the  epic  manner,  is  heavy  and  languish- 
ing. His  "Sylvse,"  on  the  contrary,  are  of  high  merit.  They  show 
a  thorough  perception  of  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  form  a  sponta- 
neous and  luxuriant  growth  from  the  native  soil  of  the  poet's  imagi- 
nation. From  Elton's  translation  we  select  the  following  picturesque 
scenefromthe  "Thebaid."  The  thirsting  army  is  led  by  a  woman  guide 
to  a  neighboring  stream,  her  child  being  left  to  deadly  impending  peril 
as  she  does  so.] 

Then,  lest  her  cumbered  footsteps,  as  she  led, 
Eetard  the  chiefs  who  follow  on  her  tread, 


Statiits]  latin  epic  POETRY.  179 

All !  hapless  innocent !  by  Fate  beguiled, 
On  a  soft  turf  she  lays  the  clinging  child, 
Where  pillowing  flowers  in  fragrant  tufts  arise, 
And  his  soft  tears  with  fondling  murmurs  dries. 
So  Cybele  the  infant  Thunderer  laid ; 
With  trembling  watch  her  Cretans  guard  the  shade ; 
In  rival  strife  they  beat  the  timbrels  round, 
While  Ida's  glades  with  infant  screams  resound. 

Meantime  the  boy,  amid  the  herbage  deep, 
Reclined  on  vernal  earth,  essayed  to  creep. 
With  downward  face,  self-striving  as  he  lay. 
And  trailed  through  yielding  grass  his  lengthening  way ; 
Now  craved  with  asking  cry  the  balmy  breast, 
Now,  brightening  into  smiles,  his  cry  suppressed ; 
Now  with  soft  lips  in  lisping  stammerings  strove ; 
Now  startled  at  the  noises  of  the  gi'ove ; 
Or  plucked  the  flowery  stems  that  near  him  lay, 
Or  with  round  mouth  sucked  in  the  breath  of  day : 
Nor  dreamed  of  dangers  lurking  in  the  shade. 
But  full  of  life,  secure  and  careless,  strayed. 
Svich  infant  Mars,  where  Thracia's  mountains  rose. 
Pressed  with  his  hardy  limbs  the  incrusted  snows ; 
Such  Love,  a  winged  babe,  was  seen  to  lie. 
On  turfy  hills  of  pastoral  Arcady ; 
Or  young  Apollo,  in  his  frolic  wile, 
EoUed  on  the  imprinted  sands  of  Delos'  isle. 

They  track  the  thickets,  wandering  far  and  wide. 
Through  the  green  glooms,  that  arch  on  every  side ; 
Outstrip  their  guide  ;  or  in  compacted  throng 
Impatient  following,  pour  at  once  along. 
She,  in  the  midst,  the  secret  pathway  traced. 
Though  hastening,  yet  majestic  in  her  haste. 
The  dell's  hoarse  echo  speaks  the  river  near ; 
And  pebbly  murmurs  strike  the  thrilling  ear. 


180  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Statius 

First  in  the  van,  glad  Argus  shook  on  high 

The  standard  staff;  and  "water"  was  the  cry. 

From  rank  to  rank  the  flying  sound  was  flung, 

And  shouts  of  "  water"  burst  fi-om  every  tongue. 

So  while  the  vessel  shoots  the  Epirean  shores. 

The  helmsman's  voice,  amid  the  dash  of  oars, 

Proclaims  Leucadia's  height,  with  sunshine  crowned, 

And  the  shrill  rocks  with  answering  shouts  rebound. 

Imjjetuous  to  the  stream  they  rushed  along, 

Confused  and  mixed,  the  leaders  and  the  throng ; 

Alike  their  thirst,  alike  they  cowering  clung 

To  the  cool  banks,  and  o'er  the  waters  hung. 

Plunged  with  their  cars  the  bitted  horses  flew, 

And  the  mailed  riders  'midst  the  current  drew. 

The  whirling  eddy  and  the  slippery  rock 

Betray  their  footing  in  the  heedless  shock  ; 

The  kings,  too,  strive ;  all  forms  of  reverence  lost ; 

Borne  down  by  hampering  crowds,  in  whirlpools  tost : 

The  friend,  in  watery  hollow  plunging,  tries 

To  raise  his  head,  with  unregarded  cries  ; 

The  chafed  waves  flash ;  the  stream  slow-lessening  sinks. 

And,  distant  from  its  feeding  fountain,  shrinks  ; 

The  glassy  waters,  that  were  seen  to  glide 

With  greenish  clear  transparency  of  tide, 

Discolored  mantle  in  their  troubled  bed ; 

The  crumbling  banks  with  grassy  ruin  spread 

The  muddied  stream ;  yet  still  their  lips  they  lave. 

And  slake  their  hot  thirst  in  the  slimy  wave. 


^SOP]  ANCIENT  FABLES.  181 


ANCIENT  FABLES. 

^SOP   AND    PHiEDRUS. 

[The  man  wliose  name  is  almost  a  synonyme  for  the  fable,  ^sop, 
the  celebrated  Greek  writer,  was  a  native  of  Samos,  his  period  of 
life  being  about  550  B.C.  Born  a  slave,  he  obtained  his  freedom, 
and  travelled  in  Greece  and  Egypt,  finally  taking  up  his  residence  in 
Lydia,  where  he  was  held  in  high  esteem  by  Croesus,  its  famous  king. 
Sent  by  this  monarch  on  a  mission  to  Delphi,  he  in  some  way  ofl'ended 
the  people,  and  was  hurled  over  a  precipice  by  an  angry  mob.  Whether 
the  ..^sop  of  whom  this  is  related  was  actually  the  fabulist  is,  however, 
questionable. 

The  universal  favor  with  which  the  fables  of  ^sop  have  been  re- 
ceived is  due  to  their  close  observation  of  the  essential  objects  of  the 
fable, — at  once  to  raise  a  laugh  and  convey  a  moral.  The  narrative 
should  be  confined  to  one  simple  action  ;  the  moral  should  be  so  plain 
as  to  force  itself  on  the  attention  of  the  reader ;  and  the  animals  should 
preserve  their  popular  attributes,  and  not  be  men  and  women  moral- 
izing in  an  animal's  guise :  the  fox  should  be  always  cunning,  the  lion 
bold,  the  wolf  cruel,  etc.  These  rules  are  closely  observed  in  most  of 
the  fables  of  ^sop,  and  to  this  is  due  much  of  their  popularity.  We 
give  some  of  the  more  witty  of  these  familiar  fables.] 

THE   lion's   share. 

The  lion,  the  fox,  and  the  ass  entered  into  an  agreement 
to  assist  each  other  in  the  chase.  Having  secured  a  large 
booty,  the  lion,  on  their  return  from  the  forest,  asked  the 
ass  to  allot  his  due  portion  to  each  of  the  three  partners  in 
the  treaty.  The  ass  carefully  divided  the  spoil  into  three 
equal  shares,  and  modestly  requested  the  two  others  to 
make  the  first  choice.  The  lion,  bursting  out  into  a  great 
rage,  devoured  the  ass.  Then  he  requested  the  fox  to  do 
him  the  favor  to  make  a  division.  The  fox  accumulated 
all  they  had  killed  into  one  large  heap,  and  left  to  himself 
I.  16 


182  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [^sop 

tlie  smallest  possible  morsel.  The  lion  said,  "Who  has 
taught  you,  my  very  excellent  fellow,  the  art  of  division  ? 
You  are  perfect  to  a  fraction."  He  replied,  "  I  learued  it 
from  the  ass,  by  witnessiag  his  fate." 

THE   PROGS   ASKING   FOR   A    KING. 

The  frogs,  grieved  at  having  no  ruler,  sent  ambassadors 
to  Jupiter,  petitioning  for  a  king.  He,  perceiving  their 
simplicity,  cast  down  a  huge  log  into  the  lake.  The  frogs, 
terrified  at  the  splash  made  by  its  fall,  hid  themselves  in 
the  depths  of  the  pool.  But  no  sooner  did  they  see  that 
the  log  continued  motionless,  than  they  swam  again  to  the 
top  of  the  water,  and  came  so  to  despise  it  as  to  climb  up, 
and  to  squat  upon  it.  After  some  time,  thinking  themselves 
ill  treated  in  being  given  so  quiet  a  ruler,  they  sent  a  depu- 
tation to  Jupiter,  praying  for  another  sovereign.  He  then 
gave  them  an  eel  to  govern  them.  But  the  frogs,  discover- 
ing the  easy  good  nature  of  their  new  ruler,  sent  a  third 
time  to  Jupiter,  begging  that  he  would  once  more  choose 
them  a  king.  Jupiter,  displeased  at  their  complaints,  sent 
them  a  heron,  who  preyed  upon  the  frogs  day  by  day  till 
there  were  none  left  to  croak  upon  the  lake. 

THE   CAT   AND   THE    MICE. 

A  certain  house  was  overrun  with  mice.  A  cat,  discov- 
ering this,  made  her  way  into  it  and  began  to  catch  and 
eat  them  one  by  one.  The  mice,  being  continually  de- 
voured, kept  themselves  in  their  holes.  The  cat,  no  longer 
able  to  get  at  them,  perceived  that  she  must  temjDt  them 
forth  by  some  device.  For  this  purpose  she  jumped  upon 
a  peg,  and,  suspending  herself  from  it,  pretended  to  be 
dead.  One  of  the  mice,  peeping  stealthily  out,  saw  her, 
and  said,  "  Ah,  my  good  madam,  even  though  you  should 
turn  yourself  into  a  meal-bag,  we  will  not  come'  near  you." 


^sop]  ANCIENT  FABLES.  183 

HERCULES   AND    THE   AVAGONER. 

A  carter  was  driving  a  wagon  along  a  country  lane,  when 
the  wheels  sank  down  deep  into  a  rut.  The  rustic  driver, 
stupefied  and  aghast,  stood  looking  at  the  wagon,  and  did 
nothing  but  utter  loud  cries  to  Hercules  to  come  and  help 
him.  Hercules,  it  is  said,  appeared,  and  thus  addressed 
him  :  "  Put  your  shoulders  to  the  wheel,  my  man ;  goad  on 
your  bullocks,  and  nevermore  pray  to  me  for  help  until  you 
have  done  your  best  to  help  yourself;  or,  depend  upon  it, 
you  will  henceforth  pray  in  vain." 

THE   MISER. 

A  miser  sold  all  he  had,  and  bought  a  lump  of  gold, 
which  he  took  and  buried  in  a  hole,  dug  in  the  ground  by 
the  side  of  an  old  wall,  and  went  daily  to  look  at  it.  One 
of  his  workmen,  observing  his  frequent  visits  to  the  spot, 
watched  his  movements,  discovered  the  secret  of  the  hidden 
treasure,  and,  digging  down,  came  to  the  lump  of  gold,  and 
stole  it.  The  miser,  on  his  next  visit,  found  the  hole  empty, 
and  beffan  to  tear  his  hair  and  to  make  loud  lamentations. 
A  neighbor,  seeing  him  overcome  with  grief,  and  learning 
the  cause,  said,  "  Pray  do  not  grieve  so ;  but  go  and  take 
a  stone,  and  place  it  in  the  hole,  and  fancy  that  the  gold 
is  still  lying  there.  It  will  do  you  quite  the  same  service  ; 
for  when  the  gold  was  there,  you  had  it  not,  as  you  did  not 
make  the  slightest  use  of  it." 

THE    mother's   PRIDE. 

Jupiter  issued  a  proclamation  to  all  the  beasts  of  the 
forest,  and  promised  a  royal  reward  to  the  one  whose  off- 
spring should  be  deemed  the  handsomest.  The  monkey 
came  with  the  rest,  and  presented,  with  all  a  mother's  ten- 
derness, a  flat-nosed,  hairless,  ill-featured  young  monkey, 


184  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Ph^drus 

as  a  candidate  for  the  promised  reward.  A  general  laugh 
saluted  her,  on  the  presentation  of  her  son.  She  resolutely 
said,  •'  I  know  not  whether  Jupiter  will  allot  the  prize  to 
my  son ;  but  this  I  do  know,  that  he  is,  at  least  in  the  eyes 
of  me,  his  mother,  the  dearest,  handsomest,  and  most  beau- 
tiful of  all." 

[We  may  add  to  these  selections  from  ^sop  some  specimens  of  the 
fables  of  Ph£edrus,  a  Eoman  fabulist,  who  flourished  about  30  a.b.  He 
styles  himself  a  translator  of  ^sop,  but  adds  many  fables  of  his  own 
invention.  In  these  he  fails  to  display  the  native  talent  of  ^^sop.  His 
brutes  speak  wisely,  but,  though  they  look  lilce  animals,  they  talk  like 
men.] 

THE    PERILS    OP    WEALTH. 

Two  mules,  laden  with  heavy  burdens,  were  journeying 
together.  One  carried  bags  of  money ;  the  other  sacks 
filled  with  barley.  The  formei-,  proud  of  his  rich  load, 
carried  his  head  high,  and  made  the  bell  on  his  neck  sound 
merrily.  His  companion  followed  with  cpiiet  and  gentle 
paces.  On  a  sudden  some  thieves  rush  from  an  ambuscade, 
wound  the  treasure-mule,  strip  him  of  his  money-bags,  but 
leave  untouched  the  worthless  barley.  When,  therefore, 
the  sufferer  bewailed  his  sad  case,  "  For  my  part,"  replied 
his  companion,  "  I  rejoice  that  I  was  treated  with  contempt, 
for  I  have  no  wounds  and  have  lost  nothing."  The  subject 
of  this  fable  proves  that  poverty  is  safe,  whilst  wealth  is 
exposed  to  perils. 

A   CHANGE    OP    MASTERS. 

In  a  change  of  j^rinces  the  poor  change  nothing  but  the 
name  of  their  master.  The  truth  of  this  is  shown  by  the 
following  little  fable.  A  timid  old  man  was  feedinij  his 
ass  in  a  meadow.  Alarmed  by  the  shouts  of  an  advancing 
enemy,  he  urged  the  ass  to  fly,  for  fear  they  sh(»uld  be 
taken  prisoners.     But  the  ass  loitered,  and  said,  "  Pray,  do 


Hesiod]  the   creation  OF  PANDORA.  185 

you  think  the  conqueror  will  put  two  pack-saddles  on  my 
back?"  "No,"' replied  the  old  man.  "  What,  then,  does  it 
matter  to  me  in  whose  service  I  am,  so  long  as  I  have  to 
carry  my  load  ?" 


THE  CREATION  OF  PANDORA. 

HESIOD. 

[The  era  in  -whicli  Hesiod  flourished  is  not  clearly  known.  He  was 
possibly  a  contemporary  of  Homer,  but  more  probably  was  somewhat 
later  in  date,  and  may  have  lived  between  700  and  800  B.C.  He  him- 
self tells  us  something  of  his  life.  Ho  was  a  native  of  Boeotia,  whither 
his  father  had  come  from  Asia  Minor,  and  seems  to  have  been  in  early 
life  a  poor  peasant  or  husbandman.  His  later  life  was  passed  at  Orcho- 
menos,  on  Lake  Copias. 

As  a  poet  Hesiod  was  not  a  man  of  genius,  but  was  not  without 
ability  and  originality.  The  works  ascribed  to  him  are  seven  in  number, 
though  it  is  doubtful  if  they  were  all  his.  Of  these  poems  the  most 
important  are  the  "  Works  and  Days,"  and  the  "  Theogony"  or  "  Gen- 
erations of  the  Gods."  The  first  of  these  is  a  didactic  poem,  a  sort  of 
former's  chronicle,  in  which  the  details  of  rural  economy  are  told  in  a 
prosaic  manner,  but  are  enlivened  with  intercalated  stories.  It  deals 
with  such  homely  subjects  as  the  pursuits  of  the  husbandman,  the 
holiness  of  domestic  life,  the  duty  of  economy,  the  education  of  chil- 
dren, etc.,  and,  while  of  low  poetic  value,  is  important  as  acquainting 
us  with  the  conditions  of  industry  and  civilization  at  that  remote  epoch. 
The  "  Theogony"  is  a  storehouse  of  information  concerning  the  origin 
and  doings  of  the  gods,  the  warfare  of  Zeus  and  the  giants,  the  legends 
of  the  deities,  etc.  It  was  held  in  high  estimation  by  the  Greeks. 
"VVe  select  from  the  "  Works  and  Days"  Elton's  translation  of  the 
story  of  Pandora,  one  of  the  most  spirited  episodes  of  the  poem.] 

The  food  of  man  in  deep  concealment  lies, 
The  angry  gods  have  veiled  it  from  our  eyes ; 
Else  had  one  day  bestowed  sufficient  cheer. 
And,  though  inactive,  fed  them  through  the  year. 
I.  16* 


186  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Hesiod 

Then  might  thy  hand  have  laid  the  rudder  by, 
In  black'ning  smoke  forever  hung  on  high ; 
Then  had  the  laboring  ox  foregone  the  soil, 
And  patient  mules  had  found  reprieve  from  toil. 
But  Jove  concealed  our  food,  incensed  at  heart 
Since  mocked  by  wise  Prometheus'  wily  art. 
Sore  ills  to  man  devised  the  Heavenly  Sire, 
And  hid  the  shining  element  of  fire. 
Prometheus,  then,  benevolent  of  soul. 
In  hollow  reed  the  spark  recovering  stole, 
Cheering  to  man,  and  mocked  the  god  whose  gaze 
Serene  rejoices  in  the  lightning's  rays. 
"  0  son  of  Japhet !"  with  indignant  heart 
Spake  the  cloud-gatherer ;  "  O  unmatched  in  art ! 
Exultest  thou  in  this  the  flame  retrieved. 
And  dost  thou  triumph  in  the  God  deceived  ? 
But  thou,  with  the  posterity  of  man, 
Shalt  rue  the  fraud  whence  mightier  ills  began : 
I  will  send  evil  for  thy  stealthy  fire, 
An  ill  which  all  shall  love,  and  all  desire." 

The  Sire  who  rules  the  earth  and  sways  the  pole 
Had  said,  and  laughter  filled  his  secret  soul. 
He  bade  the  crippled  god  his  best  obey. 
And  mould  with  tempering  water  plastic  clay ; 
Inbreathe  the  human  voice  within  her  breast, 
With  firm-strung  nerves  th'  elastic  limbs  invest : 
Her  aspect  fair  as  goddesses  above, 
A  viro-in's  likeness  with  the  brows  of  love. 
He  bade  Minerva  teach  the  skill  that  dyes 
The  web  with  colors  as  the  shuttle  flies : 
He  called  the  magic  of  Love's  charming  queen 
To  breathe  around  a  witchery  of  mien. 
Then  plant  the  rankling  stings  of  keen  desire, 
And  cares  that  trick  the  limbs  with  pranked  attire : 


Hesiod]  the   creation  OF  PANDORA.  187 

Bade  Hermes  last  impart  the  craft  i-efiued 
Of  thievish  manners  and  a  shameless  mind. 

He  gives  command,  th'  inferior  powers  obey. 
The  crippled  artist  moulds  the  tempered  clay : 
A  maid's  coy  image  rose  at  Jove's  behest ; 
Minerva  clasj)ed  the  zone,  diffused  the  vest ; 
Adored  Persuasion  and  the  Graces  young 
Her  tapered  limbs  with  golden  jewels  hung  ; 
Eound  her  smooth  brow  the  beauteous-tressed  Hours 
A  garland  twined  of  Spring's  purpureal  flowers  j 
The  whole  attire  Minerva's  graceful  art 
Disposed,  adjusted,  formed  to  every  part ; 
And  last  the  winged  herald  of  the  skies. 
Slayer  of  Argus,  gave  the  gift  of  lies, — 
Grave  trickish  manners,  honeyed  words  instilled, 
As  he  that  rolls  the  deep'ning  thunder  willed : 
Then,  by  the  feathered  messenger  of  Heaven, 
The  name  Pandora  to  the  maid  was  given : 
For  all  the  gods  conferred  a  gifted  gi'ace 
To  crown  this  mischief  of  the  mortal  race. 

The  Sire  commands  the  winged  herald  bear 
The  finished  nymph,  th'  inextricable  snare  : 
To  Epimetheus  was  the  present  brought ; 
Prometheus'  warning  vanished  from  his  thought, — • 
That  he  disclaim  each  offering  of  the  skies. 
And  straight  restore,  lest  ill  to  men  arise. 
But  he  received,  and  conscious  knew  too  late 
Th'  insidious  gift,  and  felt  the  curse  of  fate. 

On  earth  of  yore  the  sons  of  men  abode 
From  evil  free  and  labor's  galling  load. 
Free  from  diseases  that  with  racking  rage 
Precipitate  the  pale  decline  of  age. 
Now  swift  the  days  of  manhood  haste  away, 
And  misery's  pressure  turns  the' temples  gray. 


188  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Hksiod 

The  woman's  hands  an  ample  casket  bear: 

She  lifts  the  lid — she  scatters  ills  in  air. 

Hope  sole  remained  within,  nor  took  her  flight, 

Beneath  the  vessel's  verge  concealed  from  light : 

Or  ere  she  fled,  the  maid,  advised  by  Jove, 

Sealed  fast  th'  unbroken  cell,  and  dropped  the  lid  above. 

Issued  the  rest  in  quick  dispersion  hurled, 

And  woes  innumerous  thronged  the  bi-eathing  world : 

With  ills  the  land  is  full,  with  ills  the  sea ; 

Diseases  haunt  our  frail  humanity  ; 

Self-wandering  through  the  noon,  the  night,  they  glide, 

Yoiceless — a  voice  the  power  all-wise  denied  : 

Know  tlien  this  awful  truth — it  is  not  given 

T'  elude  the  power  of  omniscient  Heaven. 

[This  earliest  form  of  the  story  of  Pandora  and  her  celebrated  box, 
from  which  escaped  all  the  evils  that  afflict  man,  while  only  hope 
was  left,  is  followed  in  the  poem  with  the  original  statement  of  the 
successive  ages  of  the  world — the  ages  of  gold,  silver,  brass,  and  iron — 
on  which  the  poets  of  Greece  were  afterwards  fond  of  dwelling.  From 
the  "  Theogony"  we  select  the  description  of  the  battle  of  Jupiter  and 
t  e  giants,  in  which  portion  of  his  very  uneven  poem  Hesiod  rises  to 
a  vigor  and  graphic  energy  that  approach  Homer.  Milton  probably 
found  in  \\\\<  passage  of  Hesiod  suggestions  for  the  "  warfare  in  heaven" 
of  "Paradise  Lost."] 

THE   BATTLE    OP   JUPITER   AND   THE    GIANTS. 

All  on  that  day  stirred  up  th'  enormous  strife, 

Female  and  male ;  Titanic  gods,  and  sons 

And  daughters  of  old  Saturn ;  and  that  band 

Of  giant  brethren,  whom,  from  forth  th'  abyss 

Of  darkness  under  earth,  deliverer  Jove 

Sent  up  to  light :  grim  forms  and  strong  with  force 

Gigantic ;  arms  of  hundred-handed  gripe 

Burst  from  their  shoulders  ;  fifty  heads  ujDsprung 


Hesiod]         the  battle  WITH  THE    TITANS.  189 

Cresting  their  muscular  limbs.     They  thus  opposed 

In  dismal  conflict  'gainst  the  Titan  stood, 

In  all  their  sinewy  hands  wielding  aloft 

Precipitous  rocks.     On  th'  other  side  alert 

The  Titan  phalanx  closed ;  then  hands  of  strength 

Joined  prowess,  and  showed  forth  the  works  of  war. 

Th'  immeasui-able  sea  tremendous  dashed 

With  roaring,  earth  resounded,  the  broad  heaven 

Gi'oaned  shattering ;  huge  Olympus  reeled  throughout, 

Down  to  its  rooted  base,  beneath  the  rush 

Of  those  immortals.     The  dark  chasm  of  hell 

Was  shaken  with  the  trembling,  with  the  tramp 

Of  hollow  footsteps  and  strong  battle-strokes, 

And  measureless  uproar  of  wild  pursuit. 

So  they  against  each  other  through  the  air 

Hurled  intermixed  their  wea^DOUs,  scattering  groans 

Where'er  they  fell.     The  voice  of  armies  rose 

With  rallying  shout  through  the  starred  firmament, 

And  with  a  mighty  war-cry  both  the  hosts 

Encountering  closed.     Nor  longer  then  did  Jove 

Curb  down  his  force,  but  sudden  in  his  soul 

There  grew  dilated  strength,  and  it  was  filled 

With  his  omnipotence ;  his  whole  of  might 

Broke  from  him,  and  the  godhead  rushed  abroad. 

The  vaulted  sky,  the  Mount  Olympus,  flashed 

With  his  continual  presence,  for  he  passed 

Incessant  forth  and  lightened  where  he  trod. 

Thrown  from  his  nervous  grasp  the  lightnings  flew 

Eeiterated  swift ;  the  whirling  flash 

Cast  sacred  splendor,  and  the  thunderbolt 

Fell.     Then  on  every  side  the  foodfal  earth 

Roared  in  the  burning  flame,  and  far  and  near 

The  trackless  depth  of  forests  crashed  with  fire. 

Yea,  the  broad  earth  burned  red,  the  floods  of  Nile 


190  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Hesiod 

Glowed,  and  the  desert  waters  of  the  sea. 

Eound  and  around  the  Titans'  earthy  forms 

Rolled  the  hot  vapor,  and  on  fiery  surge 

Streamed  upward,  swathing  in  one  boundless  blaze 

The  purer  air  of  heaven.     Keen  rushed  the  light 

In  quivering  splendor  from  the  writhen  flash ; 

Strong  though  they  were,  intolerable  smote 

Their  orbs  of  sight,  and  with  bedimming  glare 

Scorched  up  their  blasted  vision.     Through  the  gulf 

Of  yawning  Chaos  the  supernal  flame 

Spread,  mingling  fire  with  darkness.     But  to  see 

With  human  eye,  and  hear  with  ear  of  man. 

Had  been  as  on  a  time  the  heaven  and  earth 

Met  hurtling  in  mid-air,  as  nether  earth 

Crashed  from  the  centre,  and  the  wreck  of  heaven 

Fell  ruining  from  high.     Not  less,  when  gods 

Grappled  with  gods,  the  shout  and  clang  of  arms 

Commingled,  and  the  tumult  roared  from  heaven. 

The  whirlwinds  were  abroad,  and  hollow  aroused 

A  shaking  and  a  gathering  dark  of  dust. 

Crushing  the  thunders  from  the  clouds  of  air. 

Hot  thunderbolts  and  flames,  the  fiery  darts 

Of  Jove ;  and  in  the  midst  of  either  host 

They  bore  upon  their  blast  the  cry  confused 

Of  battle,  and  the  shouting.     For  the  din 

Tumultuous  of  that  sight-appalling  strife 

Eose  without  bound.     Stern  strength  of  hardy  proof 

Wreaked  there  its  deeds,  till  weary  sank  the  war. 


SocuATKs]  A    PHILOSOPHER'S  DEFENCE.  191 


A  PHILOSOPHER'S  DEFENCE. 

SOCRATES. 

[The  first  of  moral  philosophers,  and  in  certain  respects  the  great- 
est mind  produced  by  ancient  Greece,  was  he  whose  name  we  have 
affixed  to  the  following  selection.  Socrates,  born  in  4G9  B.C.,  was  the 
son  of  a  sculptor,  whose  profession  he  himself  followed  for  years, 
and  apparently  with  some  skill.  He  was  a  man  of  unusually  robust 
constitution,  which  enabled  him  easily  to  endure  the  hardest  military 
service,  and  to  live  superior  to  all  wants  beyond  the  barest  necessaries 
of  life.  He  fought  with  great  valor  in  the  battles  of  Delium  and 
Amphipolis,  in  the  first  of  which  he  saved  the  life  of  Alcibiades,  and 
in  the  second  that  of  Xenophon,  two  of  his  most  distinguished  dis- 
ciples. He  served  in  political  life  also,  and  in  this  gained  a  record 
for  a  stern  sense  of  justice  and  fearless  disregard  of  public  clamor. 
He  opposed  the  schemes  of  the  thirty  tyrants  at  the  peril  of  his 
life. 

As  a  philosopher  Socrates  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  had  a  system. 
That  was  left  for  his  disciple  Plato.  But  he  had  very  distinct  and 
definite  ideas.  Stepping  aside  from  the  physical  speculations  of  his 
predecessors,  he  devoted  himself  to  psychological  studies,  made  the 
mind  of  man  the  great  object  of  his  researches,  and,  in  his  investiga- 
tion of  the  "  what"  of  everything,  was  utterly  without  respect  for  the 
existing  philosophy  and  reverence  for  human  authority.  "  Virtue  is  a 
knowing,"  is  the  only  definite  axiom  which  remains  of  his  teachings, 
and  the  importance  of  virtue  was  his  continual  inculcation.  The  search 
for  the  elements  of  morality  seemed  to  him  the  only  worthy  object  of 
study,  and  in  this  investigation  he  widened  the  entire  horizon  of  Gre- 
cian thought,  and  opened  views  into  the  inner  world  of  mind  that  make 
his  life  a  grand  turning-point  in  the  history  of  human  speculation. 
In  the  year  423  B.o.  a  virulent  assault  was  made  upon  him  by  Aris- 
tophanes, in  his  comedy  of  "  The  Clouds."  In  399  B.C.  an  indictment 
was  laid  against  him  on  the  double  charge  of  impiety  and  the  corrup- 
tion of  youth.  He  defended  himself  against  this  accusation  in  an  admi- 
rable manner,  if  his  "  Defence,"  as  given  by  Plato,  reproduces  his  actual 
remarks.     He  was  condemned,  however,  and  sentenced  to  death.     The 


192  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Socrates 

last  day  of  his  prison-life  is  made  by  Plato  the  scene  of  the  celebrated 
conversation  on  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul,  as  given  in  the  "  Phjedo." 
Socrates  then  drank  the  hemlock  poison,  and  died  with  a  dignity  and 
calmness  l)efitting  his  life. 

The  "  3Iemorabilia"  of  Xenophon  is  a  record  of  the  daily  life  and 
mode  of  conversation  of  Socrates.  Yet  it  is  not  calculated  to  give  us 
an  exalted  idea  of  his  merit  as  a  speculative  philosopher.  Plato,  his 
most  distinguished  disciple,  introduces  Socrates  as  the  principal  speaker 
in  a  series  of  imaginary  conversations  which  deal  with  the  most  ab- 
struse subjects  of  thought.  These  speculations,  however,  probably 
belong  solely  to  the  disciple.  Yet  the  "  Apology,"  or  defence  of  Soc- 
rates before  his  judges,  as  given  by  Plato,  is  believed  by  competent 
authorities  to  embody  the  real  defence  made  by  the  accused  philoso- 
pher. We  precede  our  selection  from  this  noble  example  of  oratory 
with  an  extract  froin  his  questioning  of  his  accusers.] 

Socrates.  Come  hither,  Meletus,  and  let  me  ask  a  question 
of  you.  You  think  a  great  deal  about  the  improvement  of 
youth  ? 

Meletus.  Yes;  I  do. 

Soc.  Tell  the  judges,  then,  who  is  their  improver;  for  you 
must  know,  as  you  have  taken  the  pains  to  discover  their 
corrupter.  I  observe,  Meletus,  that  you  are  silent,  and 
have  nothing  to  say.  But  is  not  this  rather  disgraceful, 
and  a  very  considerable  proof  of  what  I  was  saying,  that 
you  have  no  interest  in  the  matter  ?  Speak  up,  friend,  and 
tell  us  who  their  improver  is. 

Mel  The  laws. 

Soc.  But  that,  my  good  sir,  is  not  my  meaning.  I  want 
to  know  who  the  person  is  who,  in  the  first  place,  knows 
the  laAvs. 

Mel.  The  judges,  Socrates,  who  are  present  in  court. 

Soc.  What !  do  you  mean  to  say,  Meletus,  that  they  are 
able  to  instruct  and  improve  youth  ? 

Mel.  Certainly  they  are. 

Soc.  What !  all  of  them  ?    Or  some  only,  and  not  others  ? 


Socrates]  A    PHILOSOPHER'S  DEFENCE.  193 

3fel.  All  of  them. 

Soc.  By  the  goddess  Here,  this  is  good  news !  There  are 
plenty  of  improvers,  then.  And  what  do  you  say  of  the 
audience  ?     Do  they  improve  them  ? 

Mel.  Yes,  they  do. 

Soc.  And  the  senators  ? 

Mel.  Yes ;  the  senators  improve  them. 

Soc.  But  perhajDs  the  ecclesiastics  corrupt  them  ?  Or  do 
they  also  improve  them  ? 

Mel.  They  improve  them. 

Soc.  Then  every  Athenian  improves  and  elevates  them ; 
all  with  the  exception  of  myself,  and  I  alone  am  their  cor- 
rujjter  ?     Is  that  what  you  affirm  ? 

Mel.  That  is  what  I  stoutly  affirm. 

Soc.  I  am  very  unfortunate  if  that  is  true.  But  suppose 
I  ask  you  a  question.  Would  you  say  that  this  also  holds 
true  in  the  case  of  a  horse  ?  Does  one  man  do  them  harm 
and  all  the  world  good  ?  Is  not  the  exact  opposite  of  this 
true  ?  One  man  is  able  to  do  them  good ;  or,  at  least,  not 
many.  The  trainer  of  horses,  that  is  to  say,  does  them 
good,  and  others  who  have  to  do  with  them  rather  injure 
them.  Is  not  that  true,  Meletus,  of  horses  or  any  other 
animals  ?  Yes,  certainly.  Whether  j^ou,  Anytus,  say  this 
or  no,  that  is  no  matter.  Happy  indeed  would  be  the 
condition  of  youth  if  they  had  one  corrupter  only,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  their  improvers.  And  you,  Meletus, 
have  sufficiently  shown  that  you  never  had  a  thought  about 
the  young.  Your  carelessness  is  seen  in  your  not  caring 
about  the  matters  spoken  of  in  this  very  indictment. 

JOWETT. 

[The  "  Apology"  concludes  with  the  following  noble  language.] 

I  say  then  to  you,  0  Athenians,  who  have  condemned 
me  to  death,  that  immediately  after  my  death  a  punishment 
I.— I       n  17 


194  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Socrates 

will  overtake  you,  fur  more  severe,  by  Jupiter,  than  that 
which  you  have  inflicted  on  me.  For  you  have  done  this, 
thinking  you  should  be  freed  from  the  necessity  of  giving 
an  account  of  your  life.  The  very  contrary,  however,  as 
I  affirm,  will  happen  to  you.  Your  accusers  will  be  more 
numerous,  whom  I  have  now  restrained,  though  you  did 
not  perceive  it ;  and  they  will  be  more  severe,  inasmuch  as 
they  are  younger,  and  you  will  be  more  indignant.  For, 
if  you  think  that  by  putting  men  to  death  you  will  restrain 
any  one  from  upbraiding  you  because  you  do  not  live  well, 
you  are  much  mistaken ;  for  this  method  of  escape  is 
neither  possible  nor  honorable,  but  that  other  is  most  hon- 
orable and  most  easy,  not  to  put  a  check  upon  others,  but 
for  a  man  to  take  heed  to  himself,  how  he  may  be  most 
perfect.  Having  predicted  thus  much  to  those  of  you  who 
have  condemned  me,  I  take  my  leave  of  you. 

But  with  3^ou  who  have  voted  for  my  acquittal  I  would 
gladly  hold  converse  on  what  has  now  taken  place,  while 
the  magistrates  are  busy  and  I  am  not  yet  carried  to  the 
j)lace  where  I  must  die.  Stay  with  me,  then,  so  long,  O 
Athenians,  for  nothing  hinders  our  conversing  with  each 
other  whilst  we  are  permitted  to  do  so  ;  for  I  wish  to  make 
known  to  you,  as  being  my  friends,  the  meaning  of  that 
which  has  just  now  befallen  me.  To  me,  then,  O  my 
judges, — and  in  calling  you  judges  I  call  you  rightly, — a 
strange  thing  has  happened.  For  the  wonted  prophetic 
voice  of  my  guardian  deity,*  on  every  former  occasion, 
even  in  the  most  trifling  affairs,  opposed  me  if  I  was  about 
to  do  anything  wrong ;  but  now  that  has  befixllen  me  which 
you  yourselves  behold,  and  which  any  one  would  think  and 
which  is  sup]50sed  to  be  the  extremity  of  evil,  yet  neither 

*  Socrates  claimed  to  be  always  attended  hy  a  guardian  spirit  who 
advised  and  warned  liim. 


Socrates]         A   PHILOSOPHER'S  DEFENCE.  195 

when  I  departed  from  home  in  the  morning  did  the  warn- 
ing of  the  god  oppose  me,  nor  when  I  came  up  here  to  the 
place  of  trial,  nor  in  my  address  when  I  was  about  to  say 
anything;  yet  on  other  occasions  it  has  frequently  re- 
strained me  in  the  midst  of  speaking.  But  now  it  has 
never  throughout  this  proceeding  oj)posed  me,  either  in 
what  I  did  or  said.  What  then  do  I  suppose  to  be  the 
cause  of  this  ?  I  will  tell  you :  what  has  befallen  me  ap- 
pears to  be  a  blessing ;  and  it  is  impossible  that  we  think 
rightly  Avho  suppose  that  death  is  an  evil.  A  great  proof 
of  this  to  me  is  the  fact  that  it  is  imj)ossible  but  that  the 
accustomed  signal  should  have  opposed  me,  unless  I  had 
been  about  to  meet  with  some  good. 

Moreover,  we  may  hence  conclude  that  there  is  great 
hope  that  death  is  a  blessing.  For  to  die  is  one  of  two 
things :  for  either  the  dead  may  be  annihilated  and  have 
no  sensation  of  anything  whatever ;  or,  as  it  is  said,  there 
is  a  certain  change  and  passage  of  the  soul  from  one  place 
to  another.  And  if  it  is  a  privation  of  all  sensation,  as  it 
were  a  sleep  in  which  the  sleeper  has  no  dream,  death  would 
be  a  wonderful  gain.  For  I  think  that  if  any  one,  having 
selected  a  night  in  which  he  slept  so  soundly  as  not  to  have 
had  a  dream,  and  having  compared  this  night  with  all  the 
other  nights  and  days  of  his  life,  should  be  required  on 
consideration  to  say  how  many  days  and  nights  he  had 
passed  better  and  more  pleasantly  than  this  night  through- 
out his  life,  I  think  that  not  only  a  private  person  but 
even  the  great  king  himself  would  find  them  easy  to 
number  in  comparison  with  other  days  and  nights.  If, 
therefore,  death  is  a  thing  of  this  kind,  I  say  it  is  a  gain ;  for 
thus  all  futurity  apjDcars  to  be  nothing  more  than  one  night. 
But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  death  is  a  removal  from  hence 
to  another  place,  and  what  is  said  be  true,  that  all  the  dead 
are  there,  what  greater  blessing  can  there  be  than  this,  my 


1.96  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sockates 

judges  ?  For  if,  on  arriving  at  Hades,  released  from  those 
who  pretend  to  be  judges,  one  finds  those  who  are  true 
judges,  and  who  are  said  to  judge  there,  Minos  and  Rhad- 
amanthus,  iEacus  and  Triptolemus,  and  such  others  of  the 
demi-gods  as  were  just  during  their  own  life,  would  this  be 
a  sad  removal  ?  At  w^hat  price  would  you  not  estimate  a 
conference  with  Orpheus  and  JVIusseus,  Hesiod  and  Homer  ? 
I  indeed  should  be  willing  to  die  often,  if  this  be  true. 
For  to  me  the  sojourn  there  would  be  admirable,  Avhen  I 
should  meet  with  Palamedes,  and  Ajax  son  of  Telamon, 
and  any  other  of  the  ancients  who  has  died  by  an  unjust 
sentence.  The  comparing  ray  sufferings  with  theirs  would, 
I  think,  be  no  unpleasing  occupation.  But  the  greatest 
j)leasure  would  be  to  spend  my  time  in  questioning  and 
examining  the  peojDle  there  as  I  have  done  those  here,  and 
discovering  who  among  them  is  wise,  and  who  fiincies  him- 
self to  be  so,  but  is  not.  At  what  price,  my  judges,  would 
not«any  one  estimate  the  oj)portunity  of  questioning  him 
who  led  that  mighty  army  against  Troy?  or  Ulysses,  or 
Sisyphus,  or  ten  thousand  others,  whom  one  might  mention, 
both  men  and  women  ?  Avith  whom  to  converse  and  asso- 
ciate, and  to  question  them,  would  be  an  inconceivable 
happiness.  Surely  for  that  the  judges  there  do  not  con- 
demn to  death ;  for  in  other  respects  those  who  live  there 
are  more  happy  than  those  that  are  here,  and  are  henceforth 
immortal,  if  at  least  what  is  said  be  true. 

You,  therefore,  O  my  judges,  ought  to  entertain  good 
hojjes  with  respect  to  death,  and  to  meditate  on  this  one 
truth,  that  to  a  good  man  nothing  is  evil,  neither  while 
living  nor  when  dead,  nor  are  his  concerns  neglected  by 
the  gods.  And  what  has  befallen  me  is  not  the  etfect  of 
chance ;  but  this  is  clear  to  mo,  that  now  to  die,  and  be 
freed  from  my  cares,  is  better  for  me.  On  this  account  the 
warning  in  no  way  turned  me  aside ;  and  I  bear  no  resent- 


Socrates]         qUALIFJCATIONS  OF  A  RULER.  197 

ment  towards  those  who  condemned  mc,  or  against  my 
accusers,  although  they  did  not  condemn  and  accuse  me 
with  this  intention,  but  thinking  to  injure  me  ;  in  this  they 
deserve  to  be  blamed. 

But  it  is  now  time  to  depart, — for  me  to  die,  for  you  to 
live.  But  which  of  us  is  going  to  a  better  state  is  unknown 
to  every  one  but  God. 

[We  may  conclude  these  selections  with  one  example,  from  Xeno- 
phon's  "  Memorabilia,"  of  Socrates's  peculiar  and  very  eflective  method 
of  argument  and  reasoning, — the  conversation  with  Glaukon  on  the 
qualifications  of  a  ruler.] 

AVhen  Glaukon,  the  son  of  Ariston,  not  yet  twenty  years 
old,  was  obstinately  bent  on  making  a  speech  to  the  people 
of  Athens,  and  could  not  be  stoj)ped  by  his  other  friends 
and  relations,  even  though  he  was  dragged  from  the 
speaker's  bema  by  main  force  and  well  laughed  at,  Soc- 
rates did  what  they  could  not  do,  and,  by  talking  with  him, 
checked  this  ambitious  attempt. 

"  So,  Glaukon,"  said  he,  "  it  appears  that  you  intend  to 
take  a  leading  part  in  the  affairs  of  the  state." — "  I  do, 
Socrates,"  he  replied. — "And,  by  Jupiter,"  said  Socrates, 
"  if  there  be  any  brilliant  position  among  men,  that  is  one. 
For  if  you  attain  this  object,  you.  may  do  what  you  like, 
serve  your  friends,  raise  your  family,  exalt  your  eountiy's 
power,  become  famous  in  Athens,  in  Greece,  and  perhaps 
even  among  the  barbarians,  so  that  when  they  see  you  they 
will  look  at  you  as  a  wonder,  as  was  the  case  with  The- 
mistocles."  This  kind  of  talk  took  Glaukon's  fancy,  and 
he  stayed  to  listen. 

Socrates  then  went  on.     "  Of  course,  in  order  that  the 

city  may  thus  honor  you,  you  must  promote  the  benefit 

of  the  city." — "Of  course,"  Glaukon   said. — "And  now," 

said  Socrates,  '■  do  not  be  as  niggard  of  your  confidence, 

I.  17* 


198  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sockates 

but  tell  me,  of  all  love,  what  is  the  first  point  in  which 
you  will  promote  the  city's  benefit." — And  when  Glaukon 
hesitated  at  this,  as  having  to  consider  in  what  point  he 
should  begin  his  performances,  Socrates  said,  "  Of  course, 
if  you  were  to  have  to  benefit  the  family  of  a  friend, 
the  first  thing  you  would  think  of  would  be  to  make  him 
richer;  and  in  like  manner,  perhaps,  you  would  try  to 
make  the  city  richer." — "Just  so,"  said  he. — "Then,  of 
course,  you  would  increase  the  revenues  of  the  city." — 
"  Probably,"  said  he. — "  Good.  Tell  me,  now,  what  are 
the  revenues  of  the  city,  and  what  they  arise  from  ?  Of 
course  you  have  considered  these  points,  with  a  view  of 
making  the  resources  which  are  scanty  become  copious, 
and  of  finding  some  substitute  for  those  which  fail." — "  In 
fact,"  said  Glaukon,  "  those  are  points  which  I  have  not 
considered." 

"  Well,  if  that  be  the  case,"  said  Socrates,  "  tell  me  at 
least  what  are  the  expenses  of  the  city ;  for  of  course  your 
plan  is  to  retrench  anything  that  is  superfluous  in  these." 
— "  But,  by  Jove,"  said  he,  "  I  have  not  given  my  attention 
to  this  matter." — "  Well,  then,"  said  Socrates,  "  we  will  put 
off  for  the  present  this  undertaking  of  making  the  city 
richer;  for  how  can  a  person  undertake  such  a  matter 
without  knowing  the  income  and  the  outgoings  ?" 

Glaukon  of  course  must  by  this  time  have  had  some 
misgivings  at  having  his  fitness  for  a  prime  minister  tested 
by  such  questioning  as  this.  However,  he  does  not  yield  at 
once.  "  But,  Socrates,"  he  says,  "  there  is  a  way  of  making 
the  city  richer  by  taking  wealth  from  our  enemies." — 
"Doubtless  there  is,"  said  Socrates,  "if  you  are  stronger 
than  they ;  but  if  that  is  not  so,  you  may  by  attacking 
them  lose  even  the  wealth  you  have." — "  Of  course  that  is 
so,"  says  Glaukon. — "  Well,  then,"  says  Socrates,  "  in  order 
to  avoid  this  mistake,  you  must  know  the  strength  of  the 


Socrates]        QUALIFICATIONS  OF  A   RULER.  199 

city  and  of  its  rivals.  Tell  me  first  the  amount  of  our 
infantry,  and  of  our  naval  force,  and  then  that  of  our 
opponents." — "Oh,  I  cannot  tell  you  that  off-hand  and 
without  reference." — "  Well,  but  if  you  have  made  mem- 
oranda on  these  subjects,  fetch  them.  I  should  like  to 
hear." — "No  ;  in  fact,"  he  said,  "I  have  no  written  mem- 
oranda on  this  subject." — "  So.  Then  we  must  at  any  rate 
not  begin  with  war ;  and  indeed  it  is  not  unlikely  that  you 
have  deferred  this,  as  too  weighty  a  matter  for  the  very 
beginning  of  your  statesmanship.  Tell  us,  then,  about  our 
frontier  fortresses,  and  our  garrisons  there,  that  we  may 
introduce  improvement  and  economy  by  suppressing  the 
superfluous  ones." — Here  Glaukon  has  an  opinion,  probably 
the  popular  one  of  the  day.  "  I  would,"  he  says,  "  sup- 
press them  all.  I  know  that  they  keep  guard  so  ill  there, 
that  the  produce  of  the  country  is  stolen." — Socrates  sug- 
gests that  the  abolition  of  guards  altogether  would  not 
remedy  this,  and  asks  Glaukon  whether  he  knows  by  pei'- 
sonal  examination  that  they  keep  guard  ill. — "  No,"  ho 
says,  "  but  I  guess  it." — Socrates  then  suggests  that  it  will 
be  better  to  defer  this  point  also,  and  to  act  when  we  do 
not  guess,  but  know. — Glaukon  assents  that  this  may  be 
the  better  way. — Socrates  then  proceeds  to  propound  to 
Glaukon.  in  the  same  manner,  the  revenue  which  Athens 
derived  from  the  silver-mines,  and  the  causes  of  its  de- 
crease ;  the  supply  of  corn,  of  which  there  was  a  large 
import  into  Attica ;  and  Glaukon  is  obliged  to  allow  that 
these  are  affairs  of  formidable  magnitude. 

But  yet  Socrates  urges.  No  one  can  manage  even  one 
household  without  knowing  and  attending  to  such  matters. 
Now,  as  it  must  be  more  difficult  to  provide  for  ten  thou- 
sand houses  than  for  one,  he  remarks  that  it  may  be  best 
for  him  to  begin  with  one,  and  suggests,  as  a  proj^er  case 
to  make  the  experiment  upon,  the  household  of  Glaukon's 


200  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.    [Aristophanes 

uncle,  Charmides ;  for  he  really  needs  helj). — "  Yes,"  says 
Glaukon,  "  and  I  would  manage  my  uncle's  household,  but 
he  will  not  let  me."  And  then  Socrates  comes  in  with  an 
overwhelming  retort :  "  And  so,"  he  says,  "  though  you 
cannot  persuade  your  uncle  to  allow  you  to  manage  for 
him,  you  still  think  you  can  persuade  the  whole  body  of 
the  Athenians,  your  uncle  among  the  rest,  to  allow  you  to 
manage  for  them."  And  he  then  adds  the  moral  of  the 
conversation :  What  a  dangerous  thing  it  is  to  meddle, 
either  in  word  or  act,  with  what  one  does  not  know ! 


SCENE  FROM  "THE  KNIGHTS." 

ARISTOPHANES. 

[Of  the  writers  of  Greek  comedy  we  possess  complete  plays  of  one 
only,  but  he,  fortunately,  the  most  famous  of  them  all,  the  world- 
renowned  Aristophanes.  Of  the  life  of  this  writer  we  know  little. 
The  date  and  place  of  his  birth  are  not  known,  and  the  first  record  of 
his  existence  is  in  the  year  427  B.C.,  when  he  presented  a  comedy  called 
the  "  Banqueters,"'  which  won  for  him  the  second  prize.  He  died  about 
380  B.C.,  after  having  produced  numerous  plays,  of  which  eleven  are 
now  in  existence. 

The  works  of  Aristophanes,  lilce  those  of  all  the  comedians  of  his 
day,  dealt  with  the  public  men  and  the  political  problems  of  Athens 
with  a  directness  and  a  satiric  sharpness  which  would  be  deemed 
highly  libellous  in  a  modern  writer,  but  which  were  then  accepted  with 
the  greatest  enjoyment  by  the  people,  who  were  in  no  humor  to  give 
legal  redress  to  the  parties  assailed.  His  comedies  are  distinguished  by 
a  vigorous  farcical  element,  and  much  of  what  we  now  call  burlesque, 
but  they  display  the  greatest  versatility  and  originality  and  the  richest 
powers  of  humor  and  ridicule.  His  biting  and  brilliant  satire  has  never 
been  surpassed,  if  equalled.     Much  of  bis  wit  is  local,  and  is  lost  in 


Aristophanes]   SCENE  FROM  ''THE  KNIGHTS."  201 

translation,  while  some  of  it  seems  to  us  puerile ;  yet  all  his  plays 
sparkle  with  brilliancy,  while  they  display  an  ingenuity  in  the  artifices 
of  verse  that  is  admirable.  Frogs  are  made  to  croak  choruses,  pigs  to 
grunt  in  iambics,  and  words  are  coined  of  amazing  length, — the  "  Ec- 
clesiazusae"  ending  with  one  composed  of  one  hundred  and  eighty 
letters. 

"  The  Knights,"  from  which  wo  select,  is  the  most  bitter  and  viru- 
lent of  his  plays,  containing  a  scorching  assault  on  Cleon,  a  prominent 
political  leader  of  Athens.  A  Sausage-seller  is  introduced  as  an  op- 
ponent of  Cleon  in  his  bids  for  the  favor  of  Demus, — the  people 
of  Athens.  Demus,  a  householder,  has  three  slaves,  one  of  whom,  a 
Paphlagonian  (Cleon),  completely  governs  him.  The  Sausage-seller 
is  a  rude  fellow,  who  strives  to  outdo  Cleon  in  noise  and  impudence  in 
bidding  for  the  favor  of  their  master.  The  extract  given  is  from  the 
translation  by  Mitchell.] 

CHORUS   OF   KNIGHTS. 

Stripes  and  torment,  whips  and  scourges,  for  the  toll- 
collecting-knave  ! 

Knighthood  wounded,  troops  confounded,  chastisement  and 
vengeance  crave. 

Taxes  sinking,  tributes  shrinking,  mark  his  appetite  for 
plunder ; 

At  his  craw  and  ravening  maw,  dikes  and  whirlpools  fail 
for  wonder ! 

Explanation  and  evasion,  covert  act  and  close  deceit, 

Fraudful  fawning,  force  and  cunning, — who  with  him  in 
these  comj)ete  ? 

He  can  cheat  and  eke  repeat  twenty  times  his  felon  feat. 

All  before  yon  blessed  sun  has  quenched  his  lamp  of  glow- 
in":  heat. 

Then  to  him  ! — pursue  him  ! — strike,  shiver,  and  hew  him  ! 

Confound  him,  and  bound  him,  and  storm  all  around  him ! 

[Cleon,  confounded  by  this  attack,  calls  upon  the  high  court  of 
Athens  for  assistance.] 


202  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.     [Aristophanes 

Judges,  jury  men,  or  pleaders,  ye  whose  soul  is  in  your 

fee, 
Ye  that   in  a  three-pieced  obol,  father,  mother,  brother, 

see. 
Ye  whose  food  I'm  still  providing,  straining  voice  through 

right  and  wrong, — 
Mark  and  see,  conspiracy  drives  and  buffets  me  along. 
Chorus.  'Tis  with   reason, — 'tis  in  season, — 'tis  as  you 

yourself  have  done ; 
Thou  fang,  thou  claw,  thou  gulf,  thou  maw, — yielding  part- 
age  fair  to  none. 
Where's  the  officer  at  audit,  but  has  felt  your  cursed  grip, 
Squeezed  and  tried  with  nice  discernment,  whether  yet  the 

wretch  be  ripe  ? 
Like  the  men  our  figs  who   gather,  you   are   skilful   to 

discern 
Which  is  gi'een,  and  which  is  ripe,  and  which  is  just  ujDon 

the  turn. 
Is  there  one  well  pursed  among  us,  lambkin-like  in  heart 

and  life. 
Linked  and  wedded  to  retirement,  hating  business,  hating 

strife. 
Soon  your  greedy  eye's  upon  him — when  his  mind  is  least 

at  home — 
Eoom  and  place — from  farthest  Thrace  at  your  bidding  he 

must  come ; 
Foot  and  hand  are  straight  upon  him,  neck  and  shoulder  in 

your  grip : 
To  the  ground  anon  he's  thrown,  and  you  smite  him  on  the 

hip. 
Cleon  (^fawning).  Ill  from  you  comes  this  irruption,  you 

for  whom  my  cares  provide — 
To  reward   old   deeds  of  valor — stone   and   monumental 

pride. 


Aristophanes]   SCENE  FROM  ''THE  KNIGHTS.^'  203 

'Twas  my  purpose  to  deliver  words  and  speech  to  that  intent, 
And  for  such  my  good  intention  must  I  be  thus  tempest- 
rent? 
Ch.  Fawning  braggart,  proud  deceiver,  yielding  like  a 
pliant  thong. 
We  are  not  old  men  to  cozen  and  to  gull  with  lying  tongue. 
Fraud  or  force,  assault  or  parry,  at  all  points  will  we  j)ursue 

thee ; 
And  the  course  which  first  exalted,  knave,  that  same  shall 
now  undo  thee. 
Cleon  (to  the  audience).  Town  and  weal — I  make  appeal 

— back  and  breast  these  monsters  feel. 
Ch.  Have  we  wrung  a  clamor  from  thee,  pest  and  ruin 

of  the  town? 
Sausage.  Clamor  as  he  will,  I'll  raise  a  voice  that  shall 

his  clamor  drown. 
Ch.  To  outreach  this  knave  in  speech  were  a  great  and 
glorious  feat. 
But  to  pass  in  face  and  brass, — that  were  triumph  all  com- 
plete. 
Cleon  (to  the  audience).  Allegation,  afiirmation,  I  am  here 
prepared  to  make, 
That  this  man  (pointing  to  Sausage-seller)  shipped  spars 
and  sausages,  and  all  for  Sparta's  sake. 
Sau.  Head  and  oath,  I  stake  them  both,  and  free  before 
this  presence  say 
That  the  hall  a  guest  most  hungry  sees  in  this  man  (point- 
ing to  Cleon)  every  day  : 
He  walks  in  with  belly  empty  and  with  full  one  goes  away. 
Demus.  Add  to  this,  upon  my  witness,  that,   in  covert 
close  disguise. 
Of  fish  and  flesh,  and  bread  most  fragrant,  he  makes  there 

unlawful  prize : 
Pericles,  in  all  his  grandeur,  ne'er  was  gifted  in  such  guise. 


204  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.     [Aristopuakes 

Gleon  (loudly').  Fate  has  marked  you  with  her  eye  : 
Yet  awhile,  and  both  must  die, 

Sau.  (louder').  Pitch  your  voice,  knave,  as  you  will, 
I'll  that  voice  outclamor  still. 

Gleon  (crescendo).  When  I  soar,  the  ocean's  roar 
Fails  for  very  wonder. 

Sau.  In  my  throat  I've  but  one  note, 
And  that  note  is — thunder  (very  loud). 
Cleon.  I  have  test  your  parts  to  try  ; 
Look  at  nie,  nor  wink  your  eye. 

Sau.    Be   your   challenge   on   your   head  (looks  without 
winking)  ; 
"Where  suppose  ye  I  was  bred  ? 

Cleon.  I  can  steal,  and,  matchless  grace  ! 
Own  it  with  unblushing  face  ; 
You  dare  not  thus  pursue  it. 

Sau.  Empty  boasting,  void  as  air  ; 
I  can  steal,  and  then  outswear 
The  man  that  saw  me  do  it. 

Cleon  (mortified).  Small  applause  your  feats  demand ; 
The  art,  'tis  known, 
Is  not  your  own ; 
You're  but  a  knave  at  second  hand. 
But  to  the  hall  anon  I  go  ; 
Incontinent  our  chairmen  know 
You've  intestines  here  which  owe 
A  tithe  to  Jove  and  heaven. 

Ch.  Wretch  without  a  parallel — 
Son  of  thunder — child  of  hell — 
Creature  of  one  mighty  sense, 
Concentrated  Impudence  ! 
From  earth's  centre  to  the  sea 
Nature  stinks  of  that  and  thee. 

*(*  ?|^  *jC  ?J*  y^  >jC  jr^  >P 


Aristophanes]   PARABASIS  FROM  "  THE  BIRDS."  205 

[We  give  in  conclusion  Frere's  translation  of  a  much  admired  pas- 
sage from  "The  Birds."  It  is  an  amusing  satire  on  the  prevailing 
philosophic  discussions  and  the  fancies  of  mythology.] 


PARABASIS   FROM    "  THE    BIRDS. 

Ye  children  of  man,  whose  life  is  a  span, 
Protracted  with  sorrow  from  day  to  day, 
Naked  and  featherless,  feeble  and  querulous, 
Sickly,  calamitous  creatures  of  clay ! 
Attend  to  the  words  of  the  sovereign  bii'ds 
(Immortal,  illustrious,  lords  of  the  air), 
Who  survey  from  on  high,  with  a  merciful  eye, 
Your  struggles  of  misery,  labor,  and  care. 
\Yhence  j^ou  may  learn  and  clearly  discern 
Such  truths  as  attract  your  inquisitive  turn ; 
Which  is  busied  of  late  with  a  mighty  debate, 
A  profound  speculation  about  the  ci-eation, 
And  organical  life,  and  chaotical  strife. 
With  various  notions  of  heavenly  motions. 
And  rivers  and  oceans,  and  valleys  and  mountains. 
And  sources  of  fountains,  and  meteors  on  high. 
And  stars  in  the  sky.     We  propose  by  and  by 
(If  you'll  listen  and  hear)  to  make  it  all  clear. 
And  Prodicus  henceforth  shall  pass  for  a  dunce 
When  his  doubts  are  explained  and  expounded  at  once. 

Before  the  creation  of  Ether  and  Light, 
Chaos  and  Night  together  were  plight, 
In  the  dungeon  of  Erebus  foully  bedight ; 
ISTor  Ocean,  nor  Air,  nor  Substance,  was  there. 
Or  Solid  or  Eare,  or  Figure  or  Form, 
But  horrible  Tartarus  ruled  in  the  storm. 
At  length,  in  the  dreary  chaotical  closet 
Of  Erebus  old  was  a  privy  deposit, 
1.  18 


206  BEfST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

By  Night  the  primeval  in  secrecy  laid, — 
A  mystical  Qgg^  that  in  silence  and  shade 
"Was  brooded  and  hatched,  till  time  came  about, 
And  Love,  the  delightful,  in  glory  flew  out, 
In  rapture  and  light,  exulting  and  bright. 
Sparkling  and  florid,  with  stars  on  his  forehead, 
His  forehead  and  hair,  and  a  flutter  and  flare. 
As  he  rose  in  the  air,  triumphantly  furnished. 
To  range  his  dominions,  on  glittering  pinions, 
And  golden  and  azure,  and  blooming  and  burnished. 

He  soon  in  the  murky  Tartarean  recesses, 
"With  a  hurricane's  might,  in  his  fiery  caresses, 
Impregnated  Chaos,  and  hastily  snatched 
To  being  and  life,  begotten  and  hatched. 
The  primitive  Birds.     But  the  Deities  all. 
The  celestial  Lights,  the  terrestrial  Ball, 
"Were  later  of  birth,  with  the  dwellers  on  earth. 
More  tamely  combined,  of  a  temperate  kind, 
When  chaotical  mixture  approached  to  a  fixture. 

Our  antiquity  proved,  it  remains  to  be  shown 
That  Love  is  our  author  and  master  alone  ; 
Like  him,  we  can  ramble,  and  gambol,  and  fly 
O'er  ocean  and  earth,  and  aloft  to  the  sky : 
And  all  the  world  over  we're  friends  to  the  lover, 
And  when  other  means  fail,  we  arc  found  to  prevail, 
When  a  peacock  or  pheasant  is  sent  for  a  jjresent. 


THE  ERUPTION  OF  VESUVIUS. 

PLINY   THE    YOUNGER. 

[The  literary  ability  of  the  elder  Pliny  was  surpassed  by  that  of  his 
nephew  and  adopted  son,  C.  Plinius  Ccecilius  Secundus,  who  was  born 
at  Como,  62  a.d.,  was  carefully  educated  by  his  uncle,  and  early  showed 


Pliny]  THE  ERUPTION  OF  VESUVIUS.  207 

a  passionate  devotion  to  literature,  writing  a  Greek  tragedy  before  he 
was  fifteen.  He  studied  eloquence  under  Quintilian,  and  acquired  the 
reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  the  age.  Our 
knowledge  of  him  as  an  author  is  mainly  derived  from  his  "  Epistolss," 
or  letters,  many  of  which  were  undoubtedly  prepared  with  a  view  to 
publication,  and  which  afford  us  a  valuable  insight  into  the  manners 
and  political  questions  of  the  day,  as  well  as  into  the  characters  of  the 
leading  personages.  They  hold  a  high  place  in  epistolary  literature, 
being  charmingly  written,  lively  in  their  descriptions,  simple  and 
elegant  in  style,  and  little,  if  at  all,  inferior  to  their  models,  the  letters 
of  Cicero.  As  an  illustration  of  Pliny's  powers  of  description,  we 
select  his  account  of  an  interesting  historical  incident,  the  terrible 
eruption  of  Vesuvius  by  which  the  cities  of  Pompeii  and  Hercula- 
neum  were  overwhelmed.  The  elder  Pliny  lost  his  life  during  this  erup- 
tion, as  here  described.  The  story  is  told  in  two  letters,  which  were 
written  to  Tacitus,  the  historian.     We  give  Melmoth's  translation.] 

Your  request  that  I  would  send  you  an  account  of  my 
uncle's  death,  in  order  to  transmit  a  more  exact  relation  of 
it  to  posterity,  deserves  my  acknowledgments ;  for,  if  this 
accident  be  celebrated  by  your  pen,  the  glory  of  it,  I  am 
well  assured,  will  be  rendered  forever  illustrious.  And 
notwithstanding  he  perished  by  a  misfortune  which,  as  it 
involved  at  the  same  time  a  most  beautiful  country  in  ruins 
and  destroyed  so  many  populous  cities,  seems  to  promise 
him  an  everlasting  remembrance  ;  notwithstanding  he  has 
himself  composed  many  and  lasting  works ;  yet  I  am  per- 
suaded the  mentioning  of  him  in  your  immortal  works  will 
greatly  contribute  to  eternize  his  name.  Happy  I  esteem 
those  to  be  whom  Providence  has  distinguished  with  the 
abilities  either  of  doing  such  actions  as  are  worthy  of 
being  related,  or  of  relating  them  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
being  read ;  but  doubly  happy  are  they  who  are  blessed 
with  both  these  uncommon  talents  ;  in  the  number  of  whom 
my  uncle,  as  his  own  writings  and  your  history  will  evi- 
dently prove,  may  justly  be  ranked.     It  is  with  extreme 


208  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

willingness,  therefore,  I  execute  your  commands ;  and 
should  indeed  have  claimed  the  task,  if  you  had  not  en- 
joined it. 

He  was  at  that  time  with  the  fleet  under  his  command 
at  Misenum.  On  the  24th  of  August  [79  a.d.],  about  one 
in  the  afternoon,  my  mother  desired  him  to  observe  a  cloud 
that  aj)peared  of  a  yqvj  unusual  size  and  shape.  He  had 
just  returned  from  taking  the  benefit  of  the  sun,  and,  after 
bathing  himself  in  cold  water  and  taking  a  slight  repast, 
was  retired  to  his  study.  He  immediately  arose  and  went 
out  on  an  eminence,  from  whence  he  might  more  distinctly 
view  this  very  uncommon  appearance.  It  was  not  at  that 
distance  discernible  from  what  mountain  this  cloud  issued, 
but  it  was  found  afterwards  to  ascend  from  Mount  Vesuvius. 
I  cannot  give  a  more  exact  descrij^tion  of  its  figure  than 
by  resembling  it  to  that  of  a  jjine-tree,  for  it  shot  up  a 
great  height  in  the  form  of  a  trunk,  which  extended  itself 
at  the  top  into  a  sort  of  branches ;  occasioned,  I  imagine, 
either  by  a  sudden  gust  of  air  that  impelled  it,  the  force 
of  which  decreased  as  it  advanced  upwards,  or  the  cloud 
itself,  being  pressed  back  again  by  its  own  weight,  ex- 
panded in  this  manner.  It  appeared  sometimes  bright  and 
sometimes  dark  and  spotted,  as  it  was  more  or  less  impreg- 
nated with  earth  and  cinders.  This  extraordinary  phe- 
nomenon excited  my  uncle's  philosophical  curiosity  to  take 
a  nearer  view  of  it.  He  ordered  a  light  vessel  to  be  got 
ready,  and  gave  me  the  liberty,  if  I  thought  proper,  to 
attend  him.  I  rather  chose  to  continue  my  studies ;  for, 
as  it  haj)pened,  he  had  given  me  an  employment  of  that 
kind. 

As  he  was  coming  out  of  the  house,  he  received  a  note 
from  Eectina,  the  wife  of  Bassus,  who  was  in  the  utmost 
alarm  at  the  imminent  danger  which  threatened  her;  for, 
her  villa   being   situate  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Vesuvius, 


Pliny]  THE  ERUPTION  OF  VESUVIUS.  209 

there  was  no  way  to  escape  but  by  sea :  she  earnestly 
entreated  him,  therefore,  to  come  to  her  assistance.  He 
accordingly  changed  his  first  design,  and  what  he  began 
with  a  philosophical  he  pursued  with  an  heroical  turn  of 
mind.  He  ordered  the  galleys  to  be  put  to  sea.  and  went 
himself  on  board  with  an  intention  of  assisting  not  only 
Eectina,  but  several  others ;  for  the  villas  stand  extremely 
thick  upon  that  beautiful  coast.  When  hastening  to  the 
place  from  whence  others  fled  with  the  utmost  terror,  he 
steered  his  direct  course  to  the  point  of  danger,  and  with 
so  much  calmness  and  presence  of  mind  as  to  be  able  to 
make  and  dictate  his  observations  upon  the  motion  and 
figure  of  that  dreadful  scene.  He  was  now  so  nigh  the 
mountain  that  the  cinders,  which  grew  thicker  and  hotter 
the  nearer  he  approached,  fell  into  the  ships,  together  with 
the  pumice-stones  and  black  pieces  of  burning  rock :  they 
were  likewise  in  danger  not  only  of  being  aground  by  the 
sudden  retreat  of  the  sea,  but  also  from  the  vast  fragments 
that  rolled  down  from  the  mountain  and  obstructed  all  the 
shore.  Hero  he  stopped  to  consider  whether  he  should 
return  back  again  ;  to  which  the  pilot  advising  him,  "  For- 
tune," said  he,  "befriends  the  brave.  Carry  me  to  Pom- 
ponianus."  Pomponianus  was  then  at  Stabiae,  separated 
by  a  gulf  which  the  sea,  after  several  insensible  windings, 
forms  upon  the  shore.  He  had  alreadj^  sent  his  baggage 
on  board ;  for  though  he  was  not  at  that  time  in  actual 
danger,  yet  being  within  the  view  of  it,  and,  indeed,  ex- 
tremely near,  if  it  should  in  the  least  increase,  he  was 
determined  to  put  to  sea  as  soon  as  the  wind  should  change. 
It  was  favorable,  however,  for  carrying  my  uncle  to  Pom- 
ponianus, whom  he  found  in  the  greatest  consternation. 
He  embraced  him  with  tenderness,  encouraging  and  ex- 
horting him  to  keep  up  his  spirits,  and,  the  more  to  dissi- 
pate his  fears,  he  ordered,  with  an  air  of  unconcern,  the 
i.—o  18* 


210  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [>liny 

baths  to  be  got  ready ;  when,  after  having  bathed,  he  sat 
down  to  supper  with  great  cheerfulness,  or  at  least  (what 
is  equally  heroic)  with  all  the  appearance  of  it. 

In  the  mean  while  the  eruption  from  Mount  Vesuvius 
flamed  out  in  several  places  with  much  violence,  which  the 
darkness  of  the  night  contributed  to  render  still  more 
visible  and  dreadful.  But  my  uncle,  in  order  to  soothe  the 
apprehensions  of  his  friend,  assured  him  it  was  only  the 
burning  of  the  villages  which  the  country-peojDle  had  aban- 
doned to  the  flames.  After  this  he  retired  to  rest,  and  it 
is  most  certain  he  was  so  little  discomposed  as  to  fall  into 
a  deep  sleep ;  for  being  pretty  fat,  and  breathing  hard, 
those  who  attended  without  actually  heard  him  snore. 
The  court  which  led  to  his  apartment  being  now  almost 
filled  with  stones  and  ashes,  if  he  had  continued  there  any 
time  longer  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  have 
made  his  way  out ;  it  was  thought  proper,  therefore,  to 
awaken  him.  He  got  up,  and  went  to  Pomponianus  and 
the  rest  of  his  company,  who  were  not  unconcerned  enough 
to  think  of  going  to  bed.  They  consulted  together  whether 
it  would  be  most  prudent  to  trust  to  the  houses,  which  now 
shook  from  side  to  side  with  frequent  and  violent  concus- 
sions, or  fly  to  the  open  fields,  where  the  calcined  stones 
and  cinders,  though  light  indeed,  yet  fell  in  large  showers 
and  threatened  destruction.  In  this  distress  they  resolved 
for  the  fields,  as  the  less  dangerous  situation  of  the  two ; 
a  resolution  which,  while  the  rest  of  the  company  were 
hurried  into  it  by  their  fears,  my  uncle  embraced  upon 
cool  and  deliberate  consideration.  They  went  out  then, 
having  pillows  tied  upon  their  heads  with  napkins ;  and 
this  was  their  whole  defence  against  the  storm  of  stones 
that  fell  around  them. 

It  was  now  day  everywhere  else,  but  there  a  deeper 
darkness  prevailed  than  in  the  most  obscure  night ;  which, 


Pliny]  THE  ERUPTION  OF  VESUVIUS.  211 

however,  was  in  some  degree  dissipated,  by  torches  and 
other  lights  of  various  kinds.  They  thought  proper  to  go 
down  farther  u^dou  the  shore,  to  observe  if  they  might 
safely  put  out  to  sea ;  but  they  found  the  waves  still  ran 
extremely  high  and  boisterous.  There  my  uncle,  having 
drunk  a  draught  or  two  of  cold  water,  threw  himself  down 
upon  a  cloth  that  was  spread  for  him,  when  immediately 
the  flames,  and  a  strong  smell  of  sulphur  which  was  the 
forerunner  of  them,  dispersed  the  rest  of  the  company, 
and  obliged  him  to  rise.  He  raised  himself  up  with  the 
assistance  of  two  of  his  servants,  and  instantly  fell  down 
dead;  suffocated,  as  I  conjecture,  by  some  gross  and  noxious 
vapor,  having  always  had  weak  lungs,  and  being  frequently 
subject  to  a  difficulty  of  breathing.  As  soon  as  it  was  light 
again — which  was  not  till  the  third  day  after  this  melan- 
choly accident — his  body  was  found  entire,  and  without 
any  marks  of  violence  ujjon  it,  exactly  in  the  same  posture 
that  he  fell,  and  looking  more  like  a  man  asleep  than  dead. 
During  all  this  time  my  mother  and  I  were  at  Misenum. 

[The  remainder  of  the  narrative  is  given  in  the  second  letter,  in 
which  the  writer  describes  his  own  adventures  during  the  eruption.] 

My  uncle  having  left  us,  I  pursued  the  studies  which 
prevented  my  going  with  him,  till  it  was  time  to  bathe. 
After  which  I  went  to  supper,  and  from  thence  to  bed, 
where  my  sleep  was  greatly  broken  and  disturbed.  There 
had  been,  for  many  daj^s  before,  some  shocks  of  an  earth- 
quake, which  the  less  surprised  us  as  they  are  extremely 
frequent  in  Campania ;  but  they  were  so  particularly  vio- 
lent that  night  that  they  not  only  shook  everything  around 
us,  but  seemed  indeed  to  threaten  total  destruction.  My 
mother  flew  to  my  chamber,  where  she  found  me  rising  in 
order  to  awaken  her.  We  went  out  into  a  small  court 
belonging  to  the  house,  which  separated  the  sea  from  the 


212  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

buildings.  As  I  was  at  that  time  but  eighteen  years  of 
ago,  I  know  not  whether  I  should  call  my  behavior,  in  this 
dangerous  juncture,  courage  or  rashness,  but  I  took  up 
Livy,  and  amused  myself  with  turning  over  that  author, 
and  even  making  extracts  from  him,  as  if  all  about  me  had 
been  in  full  security.  While  we  were  in  this  posture,  a 
friend  of  my  uncle's,  who  had  just  come  from  Spain  to  pay 
him  a  visit,  joined  us,  and,  observing  me  sitting  by  my 
mother  with  a  book  in  my  hand,  greatly  condemned  her 
calmness,  at  the  same  time  that  he  reproved  me  for  my 
careless  security.  Nevertheless,  I  still  went  on  with  my 
author. 

Though  it  was  noAV  morning,  the  light  was  exceedingly 
faint  and  languid  ;  the  buildings  all  around  us  tottered,  and 
though  we  stood  upon  oj)en  ground,  yet,  as  the  place  was 
narrow  and  confined,  there  was  no  remaining  there  without 
certain  and  great  danger :  we  therefore  resolved  to  leave 
the  town.  The  people  followed  us  in  the  utmost  conster- 
nation, and,  as  to  a  mind  distracted  with  terror  every  sug- 
gestion seems  more  prudent  than  its  own,  pressed  in  great 
crowds  about  us  in  our  way  out.  Being  got  at  a  conve- 
nient distance  from  the  houses,  we  stood  still,  in  the  midst 
of  a  most  dangerous  and  dreadful  scene.  The  chariots 
which  we  had  ordered  to  be  drawn  out  were  so  agitated 
backwards  and  forwards,  though  upon  the  most  level 
ground,  that  we  could  not  keep  them  steady,  even  by  sup- 
porting them  with  large  stones.  The  sea  seemed  to  roll 
back  upon  itself,  and  to  be  driven  from  its  banks  by  the 
convulsive  motion  of  the  earth ;  it  is  certain,  at  least,  the 
shore  was  considerably  enlarged,  and  several  sea-animals 
were  left  upon  it.  At  the  other  side  a  black  and  dreadful 
cloud,  bursting  with  an  igneous  serpentine  vapor,  darted 
out  a  long  train  of  fire,  resembling  flashes  of  lightning,  but 
much  larger.     Upon  this  our  Spanish  friend,  whom  I  men- 


Pliny]  THE  ERUPTION  OF  VESUVIUS.  213 

tioned  above,  addressing  himself  to  my  mother  and  me 
with  great  warmth  and  earnestness,  said,  "  If  your  brother 
and  your  uncle  is  safe,  he  certainly  wishes  you  may  be  so 
too ;  but  if  he  perished,  it  was  his  desire,  no  doubt,  that 
you  might  both  suiwive  him :  why,  therefore,  do  you  delay 
your  escape  a  moment?"  We  could  never  think  of  our  own 
safety,  we  said,  while  we  were  uncertain  of  his.  Hereupon 
our  friend  left  us,  and  withdrew  from  the  danger  with  the 
utmost  precipitation. 

Soon  aftei'wards  the  cloud  seemed  to  descend  and  cover 
the  whole  ocean ;  as  indeed  it  entirely  hid  the  island  of 
Capreas  and  the  promontory  of  Misenum.  My  mother 
strongly  conjured  me  to  make  my  escape  at  any  rate, 
which,  as  I  was  young,  I  might  easily  do ;  as  for  herself, 
she  said,  her  age  and  corpulence  rendered  all  attempts  of 
that  sort  imj)ossible.  However,  she  would  willingly  meet 
death  if  she  could  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  she 
was  not  the  occasion  of  mine.  But  I  absolutely  refused  to 
leave  her,  and,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  I  led  her  on ;  she 
complied  with  great  reluctance,  and  not  without  many 
reproaches  to  herself  for  retarding  my  flight.  The  ashes 
now  began  to  fall  on  us,  though  in  no  great  quantity.  I 
turned  my  head,  and  observed  behind  us  a  thick  smoke, 
which  came  rolling  after  us  like  a  toi'rent.  I  projDOsed, 
while  we  yet  had  any  light,  to  turn  out  of  the  high-road, 
lest  she  should  be  pressed  to  death  in  the  dark  by  the  crowd 
that  followed  us.  We  had  scarce  stepped  out  of  the  path 
when  darkness  overspread  us,  not  like  that  of  a  cloudy 
night  or  when  there  is  no  moon,  but  of  a  room  when  it  is 
shut  up  and  all  the  lights  extinct.  Nothing  then  was  to 
be  heard  but  the  shrieks  of  women,  the  screams  of  chil- 
dren, and  the  cries  of  men ;  some  calling  for  their  children, 
others  for  their  parents,  othei's  for  their  husbands,  and  only 
distinguishing  each  other  by  their  voices ;  one  lamenting 


214  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pliny 

his  own  fate,  another  that  of  his  family ;  some  wishing  to 
die  from  the  very  fear  of  dying ;  some  lifting  their  hands 
to  the  gods ;  but  the  greater  part  imagining  that  the  last 
and  eternal  night  was  come,  which  was  to  destroy  the  gods 
and  the  world  together.  Among  these  were  some  who 
augmented  the  real  terrors  by  imaginary  ones,  and  made 
the  frighted  multitude  falsely  believe  that  Misenum  was 
actually  in  flames.  At  length  a  glimmering  light  appeared, 
which  we  imagined  to  be  rather  the  forerunner  of  an  ap- 
proaching burst  of  flames,  as  in  truth  it  was,  than  the 
return  of  day.  However,  the  fire  fell  at  a  distance  from 
us ;  then  again  we  were  immersed  in  thick  darkness,  and 
a  heavy  shower  of  ashes  rained  uj)on  us,  which  we  were 
obliged  every  now  and  then  to  shake  off",  otherwise  we 
should  have  been  crushed  and  buried  in  the  heap.  I  might 
boast  that  during  all  this  scene  of  horror  not  a  sigh  or 
expression  of  fear  escaped  from  me,  had  not  my  support 
been  founded  in  that  miserable,  though  strong,  consola- 
tion, that  all  mankind  were  involved  in  the  same  calamity, 
and  that  I  imagined  I  was  perishing  with  the  world 
itself. 

At  last  this  dreadful  darkness  was  dissipated  by  degrees, 
like  a  cloud  of  smoke ;  the  real  day  returned,  and  even  the 
sun  appeared,  though  very  faintly,  and  as  when  an  ecli23se 
is  coming  on.  Every  object  that  presented  itself  to  our 
-Byes  (which  were  extremely  weakened)  seemed  changed, 
being  covered  over  with  white  ashes,  as  with  a  deeja  snow. 
"VYe  returned  to  Misenum,  where  we  refreshed  ourselves  as 
well  as  we  could,  and  passed  an  anxious  night  between  hope 
and  fear,  though  indeed  with  a  much  larger  share  of  the 
latter ;  for  the  earthquake  still  continued,  while  several 
enthusiastic  people  ran  up  and  down,  heightening  their 
own  and  their  friends'  calamities  by  terrible  predictions. 
However,  my  mother  and  I,  notwithstanding  the  danger 


YiRGiL]  THE  DEATH  OF  DIDO.  215 

we  had  passed  and  that  which  still  threatened  us,  had  no 
thoughts  of  leaving  the  place  till  we  should  receive  some 
account  from  my  uncle. 


THE  DEATH  OF  DIDO. 

VIRGIL. 

[The  greatest  poet  of  the  Latin  race,  P.  Yirgilius  Maro,  was  born  in 
the  year  70  B.C.,  at  a  small  village  near  Mantua.  He  was  highly  edu- 
cated in  literature,  and  after  some  fluctuations  of  fortune  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  powerful  Maecenas,  and  through  him  gained  the 
favor  of  the  emperor  Augustus.  He  now  became  prosperous  and  pop- 
ular, and  took  rank  as  the  leading  poet  of  Kome ;  yet  he  was  a  man  of 
melancholy  and  retiring  disposition,  with  a  rustic  shyness  that  ill  fitted 
him  for  the  polite  circles  of  the  capital.  His  later  life  was  spent  at 
Naples,  his  pulmonary  weakness  requiring  its  favorable  climate.  He 
died  in  19  B.C.,  on  his  return  from  a  journey  to  Greece. 

The  poems  of  Virgil  consist  of  the  "  Bucolics"  or  "  Eclogues," 
Sicilian  pastorals,  written  in  imitation  of  Theocritus  ;  the  "  Georgics," 
or  descriptions  of  Italian  rural  life,  of  which  Hesiod  formed  the 
model ;  and  the  "  ^neid,"  an  epic  poem  based  on  the  works  of  Homer 
and  other  Grecian  authors.  Virgil,  indeed,  is  in  no  sense  original  in 
the  source  and  method  of  his  poems.  He  borrowed  freely  from  his 
predecessors,  but  borrowed  with  the  hand  of  genius,  which  has  the  art 
of  turning  lead  and  iron  into  gold.  As  a  poet  his  merit  is  of  the 
highest.  For  variety  of  incidents,  skill  in  their  management,  the 
interest  with  which  he  invests  them,  fine  characterization,  and  general 
majesty  of  tone  and  grace  of  language,  the  "  ^neid"  has  no  superior, 
while  its  powers  of  personification  and  word-painting  are  equally  ex- 
cellent. The  "pious  ^neas"  of  the  poem,  however,  has  more  virtue 
in  talk  than  in  action,  and  his  base  desertion  of  Dido,  the  wronged 
Carthaginian  queen,  hardly  accords  with  modern  ideas  of  piety. 
The  most  admired  portion  of  the  poem  is  the  description  of  Dido's 
despair  and  suicide.     This  we  give,  in  the  heptameter  version  of  Wil- 


216  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Virgil 

liam  Morris.  The  poet  makes  the  gods  responsible  for  ^neas's  perfidy. 
Jupiter  sends  Mercury  down  to  command  -^Eneas  to  set  sail  for  Italy. 
Dido  seeks  by  prayers  and  accusations  to  dissuade  him  from  this  pur- 
pose, but  all  her  appeals  are  in  vain  ;  the  ships  are  launched,  and  made 
ready  for  sea.] 

Ah,  Dido,  when  thou  sawest  all  what  heart  in  thee  abode ! 
What  groans  thou  gavest  when  thou  saw'st  from  tower- 
top  the  long  strand 
A-boil  with  men  all  up  and  down ;  the  sea  on  every  hand 
Before  thine  eyes  by  stir  of  men  torn  into  all  unrest ! 

0  evil  Love,  where  wilt  thou  not  drive  on  a  mortal  breast  ? 
Lo,  she  is  driven  to  weep  again  and  pray  him  to  be  kind, 
And  suppliant,  in  the  bonds  of  love  her  lofty  heart  to  bind, 
Lest  she  should  leave  some  way  untried  and  die  at  last  for 

nauffht. 

"Anna,   thou   seest   the   strand   astir,   the   men   together 

brought 
From  every  side,  the  canvas  spread  calhng  the  breezes 

down, 
"While   joyful   on   the   quarter-deck   the  sea-folk   lay  the 

crown. 
Sister,  since  I  had  might  to  think  that  such  a  thing  could 

be, 

1  shall  have  might  to  bear  it  now :  yet  do  one  thing  for 

me. 
Poor  wretch,  O  Anna :  for  to  thee  alone  would  he  be  kind, 
That  traitor,  and  would  trust  to  you  the  inmost  of  his 

mind, 
And  thou  alone  his  softening  ways  and  melting  times  dost 

know. 
O   sister,  speak  a  suppliant   word   to   that   high-hearted 

foe.  .  .  . 
Why  will  his  ears  be  ever  deaf  to  any  word  I  say  ? 


Virgil]  THE  DEATH  OF  DIDO.  217 

Where  hurrieth  he  ?     Oh,  let  him  give  his  wretched  love 

one  gift ; 
Let  him  but  wait  soft  sailing-time,  when  fair  the  breezea 

shift. 
No  longer  for  the  wedding  past,  undone,  I  make  my  prayer, 
Nor  that  he  cast  his  lordship  by,  and   promised  Latiuni 

fair. 
For  empty  time,  for  rest  and  stay  of  madness  now  I  ask : 
Let  Fortune  teach  the  overthrown  to  learn  her  weary  task. 
Sister,  I  pray  this  latest  grace ;  oh,  pity  me  to-day. 
And  manifold  when  I  am  dead  the  gift  will  I  repay." 

So  prayed  she  :    such  unhappy  words  of  weeping  Anna 

bears. 
And  bears  again  and  o'er  again :  but  him  no  weeping  stirs. 
Nor  any  voice  he  hearkeneth  now  may  tui-n  him  from  his 

road  : 
God  shut  the  hero's  steadfast  ears ;  fate  in  the  way  abode. 
As  when  against  a  mighty  oak,  strong  growth  of  many 

a  year, 
On  this  side  and  on  that  the  blasts  of  Alpine  Boreas  bear. 
Contending  which  shall  root  it  up :  forth  goes  the  roar, 

deep  lie 
The  driven  leaves  upon  the  earth  from  shaken  bole  on  high, 
But  fast  it  clingeth  to  the  crag,  and  high  as  goes  its  head 
To  heaven  aloft,  so  deep  adown  to  hell  its  roots  are  spread. 
E'en  so  by  ceaseless  drift  of  words  the  hero  ever  wise 
Is  battered,  and  the  heavy  care  deep  in  his  bosom  lies ; 
Steadfast  the  will  abides  in  him ;  the  tears  fall  down  for 

naught. 
Ah,  and  unhappy  Dido  then  the  very  death  besought. 
Outworn  by  fate. 

[A  series  of  boding  auguries  strengthens  the  resolve  of  the  unhappy- 
queen  to  destroy  herself ;  but  she  conceals  her  design  from  her  sister, 
I.— K  19 


218  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Virgil 

and  induces  her  to  build  a  funeral  pile,  witli  the  avowed  purpose  of 
burning  on  it  all  the  memorials  she  possesses  of  the  flying  ^neas.] 

Now  night  it  was,  and  everything  on  earth  had  won  the 

grace 
Of  quiet  sleep :  the  woods  had  rest,  the  wildered  waters' 

face : 
It  was  the  tide  when  stars  roll  on  amid  their  courses  due, 
And  all  the  tilth  was  hushed,  and  beasts,  and  birds  of  many 

a  hue, 
And  all  that  is  in  waters  wide,  and  what  the  waste  doth 

keep 
In  thicket  rough,  amid  the  hush  of  night  tide  lay  asleep. 
And  slij)ping  off  the  load  of  care  forgot  their  toilsome  part. 
But  ne'er  might  that  Phoenician  queen,  that  most  unhappy 

heai't, 
Sink  into  sleep,  or  take  the  night  unto  her  eyes  and  breast : 
Her  sorrows  grow,  and  love  again  swells  up  with  all  unrest, 
And  ever  midst  her  troubled  wrath  rolls  on  a  mighty  tide ; 
And  thus  she  broods  and  turns  it  o'er  and  o'er  on  every 

side  : 

"Ah,  whither  now?     Shall  I  bemocked  my  early  lovers 

And  go  Numidian  wedlock  now  on  bended  knee  to  buy, — 
I,  who  so  often  scoi'ned  to  take  their  bridal-bearing  hands  ? 
Or  shall  I,  following  Ilian  ships,  bear  uttermost  commands 
Of  Teuerian  men,  because  my  help  their  lightened  hearts 

makes  kind, — 
Because   the   thank  for   deeds   I   did  lies   ever   on  their 

mind?  .  .  . 
Or,  hedged  with  all  my  Tyi'ian  host,  upon  them  shall  I 

bear, 
Driving  again  across  the  sea  those  whom  I  scarce  might 

tear 


ViKQiL]  THE  DEATH   OF  DIDO.  219 

From  Sidon's  city,  forcing  them  to  spread  their  sails  abroad  ? 
Nay,  stay  thy  grief  with  steel,  and  die,  and  reap  thy  due 

rewai"d ! 
Thou,  sister,  conquered  by  my  tears,  wert  first  this  bane 

to  lay 
On  my  mad  soul,  and  cast  my  heart  in  that  destroyer's 

way. 
Why  was  I  not  allowed  to  live  without  the  bridal  bed, 
Sackless  and  free  as  beasts  afield,  with  no  woes  weained  ? 
"Why  kept  I  not  the  faith  of  old  to  my  Sychasus  sworn  ?" 
Such  wailing  of  unhaj)py  words  from  out  her  breast  was 

torn. 

[u35neas,  raeanwliile,  sleeping  in  his  ship,  is  visited  again  by  Mercury, 
and  bidden  to  fly  at  once,  lest  the  queen  change  her  mood  and  assail 
him  with  the  coming  dawn.  He  rouses  his  men  from  slumber,  and 
prepares  to  obey  the  orders  of  the  gods.] 

And  from  the  sheath  his  lightning  sword  flew  out 
E'en  as  he  spake :  with  naked  blade  he  smote  the  hawser 

through, 
And  all  are  kindled  at  his  flame ;  they  hurry  and  they  do. 
The  shore  is  left,  with  crowd  of  keels  the  sight  of  sea  is 

dim ; 
Eager  they  whirl  the  sjjray  aloft,  as  o'er  the  blue  they 

skim. 

And  now  Aurora  left  alone  Tithonus'  saffron  bed. 

And  first  light  of  another  day  across  the  world  she  shed. 

But  when  the  queen  from  tower  aloft  beheld  the  dawn 

grow  white, 
And  saw  the  ships  upon  their  way  with  fair  sails  trimmed 

aright. 
And  all  the  haven  shipless  left,  and  reach  of  empty  strand, 
Then  thrice  and  o'er  again  she  smote  her  fair  breast  with 

her  hand. 


220  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Virgil 

And  rent  her  yellow  hair,  and  cried,  "  Ah,  Jove !  and  is  he 

gone  ? 
And  shall  a  very  stranger  mock  the  lordship  I  have  won  ? 
Why  arm  they  not  ?     Why  gather  not  from  all  the  town 

in  chase  ? 
Ho  ye !  why  run  ye  not  the  ships  down  from  their  standing- 
place  ? 
Quick  bring  the  fire !  shake  out  the  sails !  hard  on  the  oars 

to  sea ! 
— What  words  are  these,  or  where  am  I  ?     What  madness 

changes  me  ? 
Unhappy  Dido !  now  at  last  thine  evil  deed  strikes  home. 
Ah,  better  when  thou  mad'st  him  lord — lo,  whereunto  are 

come 
His  faith  and  troth  who  erst,  they  say,  his  country's  house- 
gods  held 
The  while  he  took  upon  his  back  his  father  spent  with 

eld? 
Why !  might  I  not  have  shred  him  up,  and  scattered  him 

piecemeal 
About  the  sea,  and  slain  his  friends,  his  very  son,  with 

steel, 
Ascanius  on  his  father's  back  for  dainty  meat  to  lay  ? 
But  doubtful,  say  ye,  were  the  fate  of  battle  ?   Yea,  oh,  yea ! 
"What  might  I  fear,  who  was  to  die  ? — if  I  had  borne  the 

fire 
Among  their  camp,  and  filled  his  decks  with  flame,  and  son 

and  sire 
Quenched  with  their  whole  flock,  and  myself  had  cast  upon 

it  all ! 
— O  Sun,  whose  flames  on  every  deed  earth  doeth  ever  fall, 
O  Juno,  setter-forth  and  seer  of  these  our  many  woes, 
Hecate,  whose  name  howled  out  anights  o'er  city  cross-way 

goes, 


Virgil]  THE  DEATH  OF  DIDO.  221 

Avenging  Dread  Ones,  Gods  that  guard  Elissa  perishing, 
O  hearken !  turn  your  might  most  meet  against  the  evil 
thing ! 

0  hearlien  these  our  prayers !  and  if  the  doom  must  surely 

stand, 
And  he,  the  wicked  head,  must  gain  the  port  and  swim 

aland. 
If  Jove  demand  such  fixed  ftite  and  every  change  doth  bar. 
Yet  let  him  faint  'mid  weapon-strife  and  hardy  folk  of  war, 
And  let  him,  exiled  from  his  house,  torn  from  lulus,  wend, 
Beseeching  help  'mid  wretched  death  of  many  and  many  a 

friend. 
And  when  at  last  he  yieldeth  him  to  pact  of  grinding 

peace. 
Then  short-lived  let  his  lordship  be,  and  loved  life's  in- 
crease, 
And  let  him  fall  before  his  day,  un buried  on  the  shore ! 
Lo,  this  I  pray,  this  last  of  words  forth  with  my  blood  I 

povir. 
And  ye,  O  Tyrians,  'gainst  his  race  that  is,  and  is  to  be, 
Feed  full  your  hate !    When  I  am  dead  send  down  this  gift 

to  me : 
No  love  betwixt  the  peoples  twain,  no  troth  for  anything ! 
And  thou.  Avenger  of  my  wrongs,  from  my  dead  bones 

outspring, 
To  bear  the  fire  and  the  sword  o'er  Dardan-peopled  earth 
Now  or  hereafter;  whensoe'er  the  day  bi'ings   might  to 

birth. 

1  pray  the  shore  against  the  shore,  the  sea  against  the  sea, 
The  sword  'gainst  sword, — fight  ye  that  are,  and  ye  that 

are  to  be !" 

So  sayeth  she,  and  everwise  she  turns  about  her  mind 
How  ending  of  the  loathed  light  she  speediest  may  find. 
I.  19* 


222  BEST  FOREIGN  A  UTHORS.  [Virgil 

And  few  words  unto  Barce  spoke,  Sychseus'  nurse  of  yore ; 
For  the  black  ashes  held  her  own  ujion  the  ancient  shore  : 
"  Dear  nurse,   my  sister  Anna  now  bring  hither  to   my 

need, 
And  bid  her  for  my  sprinkling  tide  the  running  water 

speed  ; 
And  bid  her  have  the  hosts  with  her,  and  due   atoning 

things  ; 
So  let  her  come ;  but  thou,  thine  head  bind  with  the  holy 

strings ; 
For  I  am  minded  now  to  end  what  1  have  set  afoot. 
And  worship  duly  Stygian  Jove  and  all  my  cares  uproot. 
Setting  the  flame   beneath   the   bale   of   that   Dardanian 

head."' 

She  sj)ake ;  with  hurrying  of  eld  the  nurse  her  footsteps 

sped. 
But  Dido,  trembling,  wild  at  heart  with  her  most  dread 

intent, 
Eolling  her  bloodshot  eyes  about,  her   quivering  cheeks 

besprent 
With  burning  flecks,  and  otherwhere  dead  white  with  death 

drawn  nigh, 
Bui'st  through  the  inner  door-ways  there  and  clomb  the 

bale  on  high. 
Fulfilled  with  utter  madness  now,  and  bared  the  Dardan 

blade. 
Gift  given  not  for  such  a  work,  for  no  such  ending  made. 
There,  when  upon  the  Ilian  gear  her  eyen  had  been  set, 
And  bed  well  known,  'twixt  tears  and  thoughts  awhile  she 

lingered  yet ; 
Then  brooding  low  upon  the  bed  her  latest  word  she  spake : 
"  0  raiment  dear  to  me  while  gods  and  fate  allowed,  now 

take 


Virgil]  THE  DEATH  OF  DIDO.  223 

This  soul  of  mine  and  let  me  loose  from  all  my  woes  at 

last ! 
I,  I  have  lived,  and  down  the  way  fate  showed  to  me  have 

passed ; 
And  now  a  mighty  shade  of  me  shall  go  beneath  the  earth! 
A  gloi'ious  city  have  I  raised,  and  brought  my  walls  to 

birth, 
Avenged  my  husband,  made  my  foe,  my  brother,  pay  the 

pain : 
Happy,  ah,  happy  ovei*much  were  all  my  life-days'  gain 
If  never  those  Dardanian   keels   had   drawn   our   shores 

anigh." 

She  spake :   her  lips  lay  on  the  bed :   "  Ah,  unavenged  to 

die! 
But  let  me  die !     Thus,  thus  'tis  good  to  go  into  the  night ! 
I^ow  let  the  cruel   Dardan   eyes  drink  in  the  bale-fire's 

light. 
And  bear  for  sign  across  the  sea  this  token  of  my  death." 
Her  speech  had  end :  but  on  the  steel,  amid  the  last  word's 

breath. 
They  see  her  fallen ;  along  the  blade  they  see  her  blood 

foam  out. 
And  all  her  hands  besprent  thei'ewith :  wild  fly  the  shrieks 

about 
The  lofty  halls,  and  Eumor  runs  mad  through  the  smitten 

town. 
The   houses   sound   with  women's   wails   and   lamentable 

groan ; 
The  mighty  clamor  of  their  grief  rings  through  the  upper 

skies. 
'Twas  e'en  as  if  all  Carthage  fell  'mid  flood  of  enemies. 
Or  mighty  Tyre  of  ancient  daj^s, — as  if  the  wildfire  ran 
Eolling  about  the  roof  of  God  and  dwelling-place  of  man. 


224  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Virgil 

Half  dead  her  sister  heard,  and  rushed   distraught   and 

trembling  there, 
With  nail  and  fist  befouling  all  her  face  and  bosom  fair : 
She  thrust  amidst  them,  and  by  name  called  on  the  dying 

queen : 
"  Oh,  was  it  this,  my  sister,  then !  guile  in  thy  words  hath 

been! 
And  this  was  what  the  bale,  the  fire,  the  altars  wrought 

for  me ! 
Where  shall  I  turn  so  left  alone  ?    Ah,  scorned  was  I  to  be 
For  death-fellow !  thou  shouldst  have  called  me  too  thy 

way  to  wend. 
One  sword-pang  should  have  been  for  both,  one  hour  to 

make  an  end. 
Built  I  Avith  hands,  on  Father-Gods  with  crying  did  I  cry, 
To  be  away,  a  cruel  heart,  from  thee  laid  down  to  die  ? 
O  sister,  me  and  thee,  thy  folk,  the  fathers  of  the  land. 
Thy  city,  hast  thou  slain — oh,  give,  give  water  to  my  hand, 
And  let  me  wash  the  wound,  and  if  some  last  breath  linger 

there, 
Let  my  mouth  catch  it!" 

Saying  so,  she  reached  the  to^Dmost  stair. 
And  to  her  breast  the  dying  one  she  fondled,  groaning  sore, 
And  with  her  raiment  strove   to   stanch  the   black  and 

flowing  gore. 
Then  Dido  strove  her  heavy  lids  to  lift,  but  back  again 
They  sank,  and  deep  within  her  breast  whispered  the  deadly 

bane: 
Three  times  on  elbow  struggling  up  a  little  did  she  rise, 
And  thrice  fell  back  upon  the  bed,  and  sought  with  wan- 
dering eyes 
The  light  of  heaven  aloft,  and  moaned  when  it  was  found 

at  last. 
Then  on  her  long-drawn  agony  did  Juno  pity  cast, 


Virgil]  THE  DEATH  OF  DIDO.  225 

Her  hard  departing;  Iris  then  she  sent  from  heaven  on 

high, 
And  bade  her  from  the  knitted  limbs  the  struggling  soul 

untie. 
For  since  by  fate  she  perished  not,  nor  waited  death-doom 

given, 
But  hapless  died  before  her  day,  by  sudden  fury  driven, 
Not  yet  the  tress  of  yellow  hair  had  Proserpine  off-shred, 
JSTor  unto  Stygian  Orcus  yet  had  doomed  her  wandering 

head. 
So  Iris  ran  adown  the  sky  on  wings  of  saffron  dew, 
And  colors  shifting  thousandfold  against  the  sun  she  drew. 
And  overhead  she  hung:    "So  bid,  from  off  thee  this  1 

bear. 
Hallowed  to  Dis,  and  charge  thee  now  from  out  thy  body 

fare." 

She  spake  and  sheared  the  tress  away :  then  failed  the  life- 
heat  spent. 
And  forth  away  upon  the  wind  the  spirit  of  her  went. 

[To  this  extract  from  the  "  ^neid"  may  be  added  some  short  selec- 
tions from  the  "  Georgics,"  in  illustration  of  Virgil's  bucolic  style.] 

PRAISE   OP   RURAL    LIFE. 

Thrice  happy  swains,  whom  gentle  pleasures  bless, 
If  they  but  knew  and  felt  their  happiness ! 
From  wars  and  discord  far,  and  public  strife. 
Earth  with  salubrious  fruits  supports  their  life : 
Though  high-arched  domes,  though  marble  halls  they  want, 
And  columns  cased  in  gold  and  elephant. 
In  awful  ranks  where  brazen  statues  stand, 
The  polished  work  of  Grecia's  skilful  hand, 
Nor  dazzling  palace  view,  whose  portals  proud 
Each  morning  vomit  out  the  cringing  crowd, 
\.—P 


226  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [ViRQiL 

JN"or  Avear  the  tissued  garments'  cumbrous  pride, 

ISTor  seek  soft  wool  iu  Syrian  purple  dyed, 

Nor  with  fantastic  luxury  defile 

The  native  sweetness  of  the  liquid  oil ; 

Yet  calm  content,  secure  from  guilty  cares, 

Yet  home-felt  j)leasure,  peace,  and  rest,  are  theirs ; 

Leisure  and  ease,  in  groves  and  cooling  vales. 

Grottos,  and  bubbling  brooks,  and  darksome  dales ; 

The  lowing  oxen,  and  the  bleating  sheep, 

And  under  branching  trees  delicious  sleep ! 

There  forests,  lawns,  and  haunts  of  beasts  abound, 

There  youth  is  temperate  and  laborious  found  ;■ 

There  altars  and  the  righteous  gods  are  feared, 

And  aged  sires  by  duteous  sons  revered ; 

There  Justice  lingered  ere  she  fled  mankind, 

And  left  some  traces  of  her  reign  behind. 

Warton. 

THE    BEE   COMMUNITY. 

If  little  things  with  great  we  may  compare, 

Such  are  the  bees,  and  such  their  busy  care : 

Studious  of  honey,  each  in  his  degree, 

The  youthful  swain,  the  grave,  experienced  bee; 

That  in  the  field ;  this  in  aifairs  of  state, 

Employed  at  home,  abides  within  the  gate, 

To  fortify  the  combs,  to  build  the  wall. 

To  prop  the  ruins  lest  the  fabric  fall : 

But  late  at  night,  with  weary  pinions  come 

The  laboring  youth,  and  heavy-laden,  homo. 

Plains,  meads,  and  orchards  all  the  day  he  plies ; 

The  gleans  of  yellow  thyme  distend  his  thighs  : 

He  spoils  the  saffron  flowers,  he  sips  the  blues 

Of  violets,  wilding  blooms,  and  willow  dews. 

Their  toil  is  common,  common  is  their  sleep ; 

They  shake  their  Avings  when  morn  begins  to  peep ; 


LuciAN]        THE  AUCTION  OF  PHILOSOPHERS.  227 

Eush  through  the  city  gates  without  delay, 
Nor  ends  their  work  but  with  declining  day : 
Then,  having  spent  the  last  remains  of  light. 
They  give  their  bodies  due  repose  at  night ; 
When  hollow  murmurs  of  their  evening  bells 
Dismiss  the  sleepy  swains,  and  toll  them  to  their  cells. 

Dryden. 


THE  AUCTION  OF  PHILOSOPHERS. 

LUCIAN. 

[This  witty  and  celebrated  Greek  satirist  was  born  about  125  A. D.,  at 
Samosata,  in  Syria.  His  parents  being  poor,  he  was  put  to  learn  the 
trade  of  a  sculptor ;  but,  having  spoiled  the  first  piece  of  marble  that 
was  placed  in  his  hands,  he  was  sent  home  with  a  beating.  He  journeyed 
to  Greece  when  twenty  years  of  age,  and  some  years  afterwards  to 
Gaul,  where  he  taught  rhetoric  for  ten  j-ears.  He  afterwards  travelled 
considerably,  settled  in  165  a.d.  in  Athens,  and  finally  became  con- 
nected with  the  law-courts  of  Alexandria,  where  he  died  about  the  end 
of  the  century. 

Lucian  has  been  called  the  Greek  Voltaire,  having  the  skill  and 
versatility  of  the  great  French  writer,  and  a  rich  humor  which  has  in- 
fluenced such  satirists  as  Cervantes,  Kabelais,  Butler,  and  Sterne.  His 
literary  powers  were,  indeed,  of  the  highest  order,  while  his  keen  sense 
of  the  ridiculous  and  his  genial  humor  leave  him  without  a  peer  in  this 
respect  among  ancient  writers.  He  had  cultivated  the  classic  style  of 
Attica,  in  which  he  gained  remarkable  skill.  As  an  author  he  was 
prolific,  there  being  seventj'-nine  works,  besides  several  poems,  extant 
under  his  name,  though  many  of  them  are  believed  to  be  spurious. 
Of  these  his  dialogues  are  the  most  celebrated.  He  looked  with 
thorough  contempt  upon  the  old  mythologic  faith,  and  his  satires  went 
far  towards  giving  the  death-blow  to  heathenism.  All  the  religious 
creeds  of  his  day,  indeed, — Christianity  among  the  number, — were 
subjects  of  his  ridicule.     The  ancient  philosophers  were  constantly 


228  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [LuciAN 

satirized.  Of  this  we  give  an  amusing  example,  in  which  the  phi- 
losophers of  Greece  are  put  up  for  sale  at  the  slave-block.  The  trans- 
lation is  that  of  Echard.] 


Jupiter.  Come,  get  ready  the  scaffolds,  and  spruce  up  a 
place  for  the  merchants.  Do  you  stand  ready  to  bring  out 
the  goods  in  order.  But  first  trim  them  up,  to  make  them 
neat  and  sightly,  to  invite  chapmen  to  buy.  Do  you, 
Mercury,  be  crier,  and  in  the  name  of  good  luck  summon 
customers  to  appear  at  our  market.  You  must  cry  phi- 
losophers of  all  sects  and  sizes ;  and  if  any  buyer  is  short 
of  ready  money,  we'll  trust  him  a  twelvemonth  upon  good 
security. 

Mercury.  Oh,  they  come  in  shoals ;  we  must  nick  the 
opportunity,  and  not  be  too  tedious  with  them. 

Jup.  Begin  the  sale,  then. 

Merc.  Whom  shall  I  bring  out  first  ? 

Jup.  The  Ionian  there,  that  same  bush-haired,  grave- 
looking  personage. 

Merc.  So  ho,  Pythagoi'as,  come  down  and  show  your 
shapes  before  the  company. 

Jup.  Make  proclamation. 

Merc.  Oh  yes !  gentlemen ;  I  first  present  you  with  a 
rare  and  venerable  mortal.  Who  bids  ?  Who's  for  being 
moi'e  than  man  ?  Who  for  knowing  the  harmony  of  the 
universe,  and  for  taking  the  lease  of  a  life  or  two  after 
this  ? 

Merchant.  The  fellow  has  none  of  the  worst  look ;  but 
where  lies  his  excellency  ? 

Merc.  In  arithmetic,  astronomy,  magic,  geometry,  music, 
and  juggling;  and  he's  an  accomplished  fortune-teller  to 
boot. 

Merch.  May  a  body  catechise  him  a  little  ? 

Merc.  Ay,  and  welcome. 


LuciAN]        THE  AUCTION  OF  PHILOSOPHERS.  229 

Merch.  What  countryman  are  you,  friend  ? 

Pyth.  A  Samian. 

Merch.  Where  were  you  bred  ? 

Pyth.  In  Egjqat,  among  the  sage  philosophers. 

Merch.  Yery  well :  in  case  I  should  bargain  for  you, 
what  will  you  teach  me  ? 

Pyth.  Nothing  :  I  shall  only  be  your  remembrancer. 

Merch.  How's  that,  prithee  ? 

Pyth.  Why,  first  I'll  purify  your  soul,  and  refine  it  from 
all  its  dross. 

Merch.  vSuppose  it  is  already  refined,  what  methods  will 
you  use  then  ? 

Pyth.  First,  I  must  enjoin  you  a  long  silence ;  tie  up 
your  tongue,  so  that  you  shall  not  speak  a  word  for  five 
years  together. 

Merch.  Prithee,  friend,  go  preach  to  Croesus's  son ;  I'm 
very  talkative,  and  don't  like  being  a  statue.  But  what 
should  I  learn  after  the  five  years  were  out  ? 

Pyth.  Music  and  geometry. 

Merch.  A  very  good  jest,  i'  faith !  I  must  first  be  a 
fiddler,  then  a  philosopher. 

Pyth.  Next  you  must  learn  the  art  of  numbering. 

Merch.  Pooh !  that  I  understand  already. 

Pyth.  Let's  see  a  sample. 

Merch.  One,  two,  three,  four. 

Pyth.  Little  do  you  think  that  four  is  ten,  an  equilateral 
triangle,  and  the  number  we  swear  by. 

Merch.  By  the  grand  oath  four,  nothing  can  be  more 
divine  or  sacred. 

Pyth.  Next,  my  friend,  I'll  teach  you  the  power  of  the 
earth,  air,  water,  and  fire,  with  their  several  forms  and 
motions. 

Merch.  Have  air  and  water  a  form,  then  ? 

Pyth.  Ay,  without  doubt ;  for  without  such  they  could 
I.  20 


230  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucian 

have  no  motion.     Besides,  you  must  know  that  God  him- 
self is  nothing  but  number  and  harmony. 

Merch.  Wonderful !  as  I  hope  to  live. 

Pyth.  N'ay,  more  than  all  this ;  you  that  seem  one  thing 
shall  find  yourself  another,  and  another  after  that. 

Merch.  How's  that,  though  ?  Am  I  somebody  else,  and 
not  he  that's  talking  with  you  now  ? 

Pyth.  At  present  you  are  he,  but  time  was  when  you 
were  another  shape  and  name,  and  time  will  be  when  you 
shall  undergo  a  new  transmigration. 

Merch.  Say  you  so,  in  truth  ?  Then  I  shall  be  immortal, 
since  I  shift  shapes  so  often.  But  let  that  pass.  Prithee, 
friend,  what  dost  thou  feed  upon  ? 

Pyth.  Nothing  that  has  had  life ;  but  everything  else 
except  beans. 

Merch.  What  quarrel  have  you  against  beans  ? 

Pyth.  No  quarrel  at  all ;  but  they  are  divine  and  mys- 
terious things.  First,  they  have  a  prolific  quality ;  .  .  . 
then,  if  you  boil  them,  and  expose  them  a  certain  number 
of  nights  to  the  moon,  they  will  turn  to  blood.  And,  what's- 
more  than  all,  the  Athenians  always  choose  their  magis- 
trates by  beans. 

Merch.  Troth,  well  and  piously  spoken.  I'll  buy  him,  at 
any  rate.     Pray,  what  do  you  ask  for  him  ? 

Merc.  Five-and-twenty  pieces. 

Merch.  A  bargain,  then ;  I'll  have  him. 

Jup.  Enter  the  buyer's  name,  and  where  we  may  find  him, 

Merc.  It  seems,  sir,  he's  an  Italian,  upon  the  Grecian 
coasts  of  Croton  and  Tarentum.  But  he's  not  alone,  for 
they're  near  three  hundred  strong  who  go  shares  in  him. 

Jup.  Let  them  have  him  away,  then ;  and  do  you  bring 
out  another. 

3Ierc.  Would  you  have  that  nasty,  ill-looking  fellow  of 
Pontus  ? 


LuciAN]        THE  AUCTION  OF  PHILOSOPHERS.  231 

Jup.  By  all  means. 

Merc.  So  ho!  you  fellow  with  your  bag  at  your  back, 
you  shoulders!  stand  forth,  and  take  a  turn  round  the 
assembly.  Oh  yes !  I  present  you  with  a  lusty,  rare,  well- 
bred,  free-born  mortal.     Who  bids  ? 

Merch.  By  your  leave,  Mr.  Crier,  dare  you  sell  a  free- 
man ?     Ha ! 

Merc.  Yes,  indeed. 

Merch.  Are  you  not  afraid  of  being  indicted  for  kidnap- 
ping, or  of  being  summoned  before  the  Areopagus  ? 

Merc.  He  cares  not  a  straw  for  being  sold;  he  thinks 
he's  as  free  as  the  best  for  all  that. 

Merch.  What  use  can  a  body  have  for  such  a  wretched 
slovenly  cur,  unless  one  make  him  a  delver  or  a  water- 
carrier  ? 

Merc.  That's  not  all.  You  may  make  him  your  porter ; 
the  fellow's  worth  forty  dogs ;  besides,  he's  got  the  name 
of  one  already. 

Merch.  What's  his  country,  and  where  lies  his  chief 
talent  ? 

Merc.  Ask  him  that  question :  he  can  best  resolve  you. 

Merch.  Gadzooks !  I'm  afraid  to  come  near  the  sour, 
grim-looking  dog,  for  fear  he  should  open  upon  me  and 
snap  me  by  the  nose.  Do  you  see  how  the  rogue  lifts  up 
his  cudgel,  knits  his  brows,  and  looks  as  fierce  and  terrible 
as  a  demi-gorgon  ? 

Merc.  Fear  him  not,  man ;  he's  tame  enough. 

Merch.  Prithee,  honest  friend,  what  countryman  art 
thou? 

Diogenes.  I  am  one  of  the  Worldenses. 

Merch.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Diog.  Why,  I'm  a  citizen  of  the  whole  world, 

Merch.  Whom  do  you  imitate  ? 

Diog.  Hercules. 


232  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Litcian 

Merch.  In  his  club,  indeed ;  but  then  why  not  in  his 
lion's  skin  ? 

Diog.  My  threadbare  cloak's  my  lion's  skin,  in  which, 
like  him,  but  as  a  reformer,  I  wage  a  mortal  war  with 
pleasures,  and  mean  to  clear  mankind  of  those  monsters. 

Merch.  Faith,  an  heroic  enterprise !  But,  good  man,  by 
what  science  are  you  distinguished,  or  what  art  do  you 
profess  ? 

Diog.  I'm  the  deliverer  of  mankind,  and  the  physician 
of  the  passions.  In  short,  I  desire  to  be  a  professor  of 
truth  and  of  plain  dealing. 

Merch.  "Well,  Mr.  Professor,  suppose  I  should  purchase 
you,  how  would  you  manage  me  ? 

Diog.  First,  I'll  take  and  strip  you  of  all  your  delights, 
confine  you  to  beggary,  and  clothe  you  with  rags.  Next, 
I'll  enjoin  you  to  toil  and  moil  all  day,  sleep  on  the  ground 
at  night,  drink  nothing  but  water,  and  eat  what  comes  first 
to  hand.  Then,  if  you  have  any  money,  by  my  good  will, 
throw  it  all  into  the  sea.  As  for  wife,  children,  and  country, 
take  no  care  about,  but  look  upon  them  all  as  insignificant 
baubles.  Then,  leaving  your  native  house,  you  shall  take 
up  in  some  old  cave,  forsaken  ruins,  or  else  in  some  tub. 
You  must  have  a  budget  crammed  full  of  lupins  and  old 
musty  writings.  Thus  rigged  out,  you  shall  vie  in  happi- 
ness with  the  greatest  monarch  upon  earth ;  and  if  you 
are  whipped  and  racked  to  death  you  won't  mind  it  a  bit. 

Merch.  How's  that?  May  I  be  whipped  and  feel  no 
pain  ?  Troth,  I'm  neither  cased  with  tortoise  nor  lobster 
shell. 

Diog.  You  must  imitate  the  saying  of  Euripides,  but  a 
little  turned. 

Merch.  Prithee,  what  is't  ? 

Diog.  "  Though  grief  your  mind  possesses,  your  tongue 
is  free."     But  your  principal  accomplishments  are — to  be 


LXJCIAN]        THE  AUCTION  OF  PHILOSOPHERS.  233 

very  impudent ;  vastly  rash  ;  to  snarl  at  all  without  distinc- 
tion, at  kings  as  well  as  private  persons  :  the  only  way  to 
be  regarded  and  admired  for  a  man  of  spirit.  Let  your 
elocution  be  barbarous ;  your  pronunciation  rude  and  al- 
together like  a  dog's ;  your  looks  forced,  and  your  gait  of 
the  same  stamp  ;  in  short,  your  whole  deportment  wild  and 
savage.  .  .  .  Lastly,  when  you're  weary  of  this  world,  take 
a  dose  of  poison,  and  pack  off  to  the  next.  This  is  the 
happiness  we  shall  treat  you  withal. 

Merch.  I've  no  great  occasion  for  such  accomplishments. 
Possibly  in  time  you  may  arrive  to  the  honor  of  a  tarpau- 
lin or  a  digger ;  therefore,  if  your  master  will  take  a  couple 
of  pence  for  you  I'll  venture  to  give  that. 

Merc.  Ay,  ay,  away  with  him  ;  and  a  ftiir  riddance.  The 
dog  has  kept  up  such  a  coil  and  clamor,  and  made  such  a  con- 
founded snarling  at  us  all,  we  could  not  be  at  peace  for  him. 

[Several  other  philosophers  are  introduced  and  offered  for  sale,  De- 
mocritus,  Heraclitus,  Socrates,  Chrysippus,  and  then  Aristotle,  who, 
however,  is  not  exposed  to  a  personal  interrogation.] 

Merc.  Stand  forth  the  rich,  handsome  Peripatetic.  Come, 
gentlemen,  what  say  you  to  the  wisest  man  in  the  world, 
and  one  that  knows  all  things  ? 

Merch.  What  is  he  ? 

Merc.  Oh,  a  mighty  modest,  just,  and  regular  person; 
and,  more  than  all,  a  double  philosopher. 

Merch.  How  double  ? 

Merc.  He  appears  one  thing  without  and  another  within ; 
therefore,  if  you  should  chance  to  buy  him,  you  must  be 
sure  to  remember  to  call  him  "  inside"  and  "  outside." 

Merch.  Where  lies  his  knowledge  ? 

Merc.  Oh,  he  has  a  treble  knowledge  ;  he  says  there  are 
three  sorts  of  good :  one  of  the  mind  ;  another  of  the  body ; 
and  a  third  extrinsical  to  both. 
I.  20* 


234  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [LuciAN 

Merch.  He  understands  human  affairs.  But  what  do  you 
value  him  at  ? 

Merc.  Fifty  pieces. 

Merch.  That's  plaguey  dear,  though ! 

Merc.  Not  at  all,  good  sir ;  the  fellow  seems  to  have  money 
of  his  own,  therefore  you  can't  be  too  ready  to  snap  him  up. 
Besides,  he'll  teach  you  how  long  a  gnat  lives ;  how  many 
fathoms  the  sun  will  shine  into  the  sea ;  and  what  sort  of 
souls  oysters  have  got.  .  .  . 

Merch.  Troth,  admirable  and  profitable  sciences !  Well, 
here's  your  fifty  pieces. 

Merc.  Yery  well.  Who's  behind?  Oh,  'tis  your  Sceptic! 
Stand  forth,  Pyrrho ;  you're  next  to  be  cried.  The  com- 
pany is  grown  very  thin,  and  the  market  runs  low.  Who 
buys  this  philosopher  ? 

Merch.  That  will  I :  but  first,  tell  me  what  you  know. 

Pyrrho.  Nothing. 

Merch.  How  so  ? 

Pyr.  Because  to  me  nothing  seems  to  exist. 

Merch.  Are  we  all  nothing  ? 

Pyr.  'Tis  more  than  I  know. 

Merch.  Art  thou  anything,  then  ? 

Pyr.  That  I  know  less  than  the  other. 

Merch.  Strange ;  but  what  have  you  those  scales  for  ? 

Pyr.  In  them  I  weigh  the  reasons  on  each  side  of  a  ques- 
tion, and  when  I  find  the  balance  equal  on  both,  conclude 
that  I  know  nothing.  .  .  , 

Merch.  Fellow,  what's  the  end  of  thy  knowledge  ? 

Pyr.  Ignorance,  and  neither  to  hear  nor  yet  to  see. 

Merch.  Are  thou  deaf  and  blind,  then  ? 

Pyr.  Ay,  and  want  both  sense  and  reason  too;  and 
there's  not  a  bit  of  difference  between  me  and  a  worm. 

Merch.  Therefore  I'll  buy  thee  for  a  rarity.  What's  his 
price,  crier? 


Sappho]  POEMS  OF  PASSION.  235 

Merc.  But  fifty  shillings. 

Iferch.  Take  your  money.  What  say  you,  friend,  have  I 
bought  you  or  not  ? 

Pyr.  'Tis  uncertain  whether  you  have  or  not. 

Merch.  The  deuce  it  is !  I've  bought  thee,  and  paid  the 
money  down  uj)on  the  nail. 

Pyr.  I  suspend  my  judgment,  and  consider  of  it. 

Merch.  Follow  me,  as  a  servant  should. 

Pyr.  Who  knows  whether  you  say  a  word  of  truth  or 
not? 

Merch.  The  crier,  my  money,  and  the  standers-by  will 
prove  it. 

Pyr.  Is  there  anybody  here,  then  ? 

Merch.  Sirrah !  I  shall  send  you  to  the  house  of  correc- 
tion, and  drive  it  into  your  head  with  an  argument  a  deteriori. 

Pyr.  I  doubt  of  that,  too. 

Merch.  But,  by  Jove,  I'll  do  it,  though. 

Merc.  Hold  your  quibbling  tongue,  and  follow  your  mas- 
ter that  bought  you.  To-morrow,  gentlemen,  if  you  please 
to  come,  we  shall  sell  private  persons,  mechanics,  and  mortals 
of  the  vulgar  stamp. 


POEMS  OF  PASSION. 

SAPPHO. 


[The  poetess  Sappho,  so  famous  in  the  past  for  the  richness  and  pas- 
sionate fire  of  her  lyric  genius,  of  which  we  have  ample  evidence  in 
the  few  poems  and  fragments  of  poems  of  hers  which  remain  to  us, 
was  a  native  of  Mitylene,  on  the  island  of  Lesbos,  where  she  was 
horn  about  632  B.C.  Yery  little  is  known  of  her  life ;  the  story 
that,  in  despair  through  unrequited  love,  she  threw  herself  from  the 
Leucadian  promontory,  the  celebrated  "  Lovers'  Leap"  of  Greece,  being 


236  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sappho 

most  likely  an  invention  of  later  times.  No  ancient  poet  was  held  in 
greater  esteem  than  Sappho.  The  Mitylenians  paid  the  highest  honors 
to  her  name,  gave  her  the  title  of  the  "  Tenth  Muse,"  and  placed  her 
image  on  their  coins.  The  Komans,  centuries  afterwards,  erected  a 
magnificent  porphyry  statue  to  her  memory.  We  give  the  most 
striking  of  the  few  relics  of  this  famous  poetess.  The  "  Ode  to 
Venus"  was  fortunately  preserved  to  us  through  heing  quoted  by  Lon- 
ginus,  in  his  treatise  on  "  The  Sublime,"  in  which  he  pronounced  it  one 
of  the  finest  productions  of  the  Greek  lyric  muse.  Many  translations, 
of  varying  merit,  exist.  We  give  that  of  Edwin  Arnold,  as  preserving 
the  metre  and  much  of  the  spirit  of  the  original.] 

ODE   TO    VENUS. 

Splendor-throned  Queen !  immortal  Aphrodite  ! 
Daughter  of  Jove — Enchantress !  I  implore  thee, 
Vex  not  my  soul  with  agonies  and  anguish ; 

Slay  me  not,  Goddess  ! 
Come  iu  thy  pity — come,  if  I  have  prayed  thee ; 
Come  at  the  cry  of  my  sorrow ;  in  the  old  times 
Oft  thou  hast  heard  and  left  thy  father's  heaven, 

Left  the  gold  houses. 
Yoking  thy  chariot.     Swiftly  did  the  doves  fly, 
Swiftly  they  brought  thee,  waving  plumes  of  wonder, 
Waving  their  dark  plumes  all  across  the  aether, 

All  down  the  azure ! 
Very  soon  they  lighted.     Then  didst  thou,  Divine  one. 
Laugh  a  bright  laugh  from  lips  and  eyes  immortal, 
Ask  me,  "  What  ailed  me  ? — wherefore  out  of  heaven 

Thus  I  had  called  thee  ? 
What  it  was  made  me  madden  in  my  heart  so  ?" 
Question  me  smiling — say  to  me,  "  My  Sappho, 
Who  is  it  wrongs  thee  ?  tell  me  who  refuses 

Thee,  vainly  sighing. 
Be  it  who  it  may  be,  he  that  flies  shall  follow ; 
He  that  rejects  gifts,  he  shall  bring  thee  many; 


CO 

> 

T3 
TJ 

I 

o 


1*1 

c 
CO 


SapphoJ  poems  of  passion.  237 

He  that  hates  now  shall  love  thee  dearly,  madly — 

Ay,  though  thou  wouldst  not." 
So  once  again  come,  Mistress ;  and,  releasing 
Me  from  my  sadness,  give  me  what  I  sue  for, 
Grant  me  my  prayer,  and  be,  as  heretofore,  now 

Friend  and  pi-otectress ! 

[To  the  above  we  add  the  following  poem,  which  has  received  high 
praise  as  accurately  depicting  all  the  symptoms  of  the  passion  of  love. 
Sappho  perhaps  had  herself  felt  the  flow  of  emotions  of  which  she  here 
so  passionately  sings  in  tones  which  the  best  translation  but  feebly  re- 
produces.] 

TO    ONE   BELOVED. 

More  happy  than  the  gods  is  he 
Who,  soft  reclining,  sits  by  thee  ; 
His  ears  thy  pleasing  talk  beguiles. 
His  eyes  thy  sweetly  dimpled  smiles. 

This,  this,  alas !  alarmed  my  breast. 
And  robbed  me  of  my  golden  rest ; 
While  gazing  on  thy  charms  I  hung, 
My  voice  died  faltering  on  my  tongue. 

With  subtle  flames  my  bosom  glows  ; 
Quick  through  each  vein  the  poison  flows ; 
Dark,  dimming  mists  my  eyes  surround  ; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  sound. 

My  limbs  with  dewy  chillness  freeze, 
On  my  whole  frame  pale  tremblings  seize. 
And,  losing  color,  sense,  and  breath, 
I  seem  quite  languishing  in  death. 

Fawkes. 

[The  following  are  perhaps  the  most  graceful  of  the  extant  fragments 
of  the  poems  of  Sappho.  ] 


238  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.    [Julius  C^sar 

TO   THE   ROSE. 

Did  Jovo  a  queen  of  flowers  decree, 
The  rose  the  queen  of  flowers  should  be. 
Of  flowers  the  eye ;  of  plants  the  gem ; 
The  meadow's  blush;  earth's  diadem ; 
Glory  of  colors  on  the  gaze, 
Lightning  in  its  beauty's  blaze ; 
It  breathes  of  love ;  it  blooms  the  guest 
Of  Yenus'  ever-fragrant  breast ; 
In  gaudy  pomp  its  petals  spread ; 
Light  foliage  trembles  round  its  head ; 
With  vermeil  blossoms  fresh  and  fair 
It  laughs  to  the  voluptuous  air. 

TO   VENUS. 

Yenus,  queen  of  smiles  and  love, 
Quit,  oh,  quit  the  skies  above ; 
To  my  lowly  roof  descend. 
At  the  mirthful  feast  attend  ; 
Hand  the  golden  goblet  round. 
With  delicious  nectar  crowned  ; 
None  but  joyous  friends  you'll  see, 
Friends  of  Yenus  and  of  me. 


THE  ANCIENT  GAULS  AND  GERMANS. 

JULIUS   CiESAR. 

[Caius  Julius  Csesar,  who  made  the  history  which  he  wrote,  needs 
at  our  hands  nothing  further  than  his  literary  biography.  He  was  born 
100  B.C.,  and  lived  fifty-six  years,  to  the  date  of  his  assassination.  His 
first  distinction  in  a  literary  career  was  gained  in  oratory,  in  which  he 
displayed  an  ability  second  only  to  that  of  Cicero. 


Julius  C^sar]  ANCIENT  GA  ULS  AND   GERMANS.  239 

He  first  appeared  as  an  author  in  a  work  descriptive  of  the  Koman 
belief  in  augury,  the  "  Libri  Auspiciorum."  This  was  followed  by  a 
treatise  on  astronomy,  entitled  "  De  Astris."  In  a  scientific  sense  these 
works  are  valueless,  though  otherwise  they  are  of  interest.  His  remark- 
able military  career  now  began,  but  the  activity  of  his  subsequent  life 
did  not  put  an  end  to  his  literary  labors.  In  the  intervals  of  his  cam- 
paigns he  wrote  his  celebrated  "  Memoii-s,"  or  "  Commentaries  of  the 
Gallic  and  Civil  Wars,"  to  which  he  owes  his  fame  as  an  author.  He 
wrote  several  minor  works,  all  of  which  have  perished,  probably  the 
most  valuable  of  them  being  his  orations,  of  which  only  the  titles 
exist. 

The  "  Commentaries"  of  Cassar  are  exactly  what  they  profess  to  be, 
sketches  taken  on  the  spot,  jotted  down  while  the  incidents  described 
were  yet  vivid  in  the  memory  of  the  writer.  They  are  marked  by  the 
most  graphic  power,  and  their  insight  into  human  nature  is  of  won- 
derful depth.  Their  style  has  an  elegance  and  a  polish  equal  to  those 
of  the  most  skilful  writers  of  the  Augustan  age.  Ctesar's  calmness 
and  equability  of  character  are  reflected  in  his  work,  which  lacks 
imaginative  ardor,  and,  as  Cicero  says,  is  statuesque  rather  than  pic- 
turesque in  the  simple  beauty  of  its  language.  From  McDevitte's 
literal  translation  of  the  "  Commentaries"  we  select  the  description 
of  the  characteristics  of  the  Gauls  and  Germans,  as  of  more  interest 
and  value  than  stories  of  war.] 

Throughout  all  Gaul  there  are  two  orders  of  those  men 
who  are  of  any  rank  and  dignity ;  for  the  commonalty  is 
held  almost  in  the  condition  of  slaves,  and  dares  to  under- 
take nothing  of  itself,  and  is  admitted  to  no  deliberation. 
The  greater  part,  when  they  are  pressed  either  by  debt,  or 
the  large  amount  of  their  tributes,  or  the  oppression  of 
the  more  powerful,  give  themselves  up  in  vassalage  to  the 
nobles,  who  possess  over  them  the  same  rights,  without 
exception,  as  masters  over  their  slaves.  But  of  these  two 
orders,  one  is  that  of  the  Druids,  the  other  that  of  the 
knights.  The  former  are  engaged  in  things  sacred,  con- 
duct the  public  and  the  private  sacrifices,  and  interpret  all 
matters  of  religion.    To  these  a  large  number  of  the  young 


240  BEST  FOREIGN  A  UTHORS.    [Julius  C^sar 

men  resort  for  the  purpose  of  instruction,  and  they  [the 
Druids]  are  in  great  honor  among  them.  For  they  deter- 
mine respecting  almost  all  controversies,  public  and  private ; 
and  if  any  crime  has  been  perpetrated,  if  murder  has  been 
committed,  if  there  be  any  dispute  about  an  inheritance, 
if  any  about  boundaries,  these  same  persons  decide  it; 
they  decree  rewards  and  j)unishments ;  if  any  one,  either 
in  a  private  or  public  capacity,  has  not  submitted  to  their 
decision,  they  interdict  him  from  the  sacrifices.  This  among 
them  is  the  most  heavy  punishment.  Those  who  have  been 
thus  interdicted  are  esteemed  in  the  number  of  the  impious 
and  the  criminal :  all  shun  them,  and  avoid  their  society 
and  conversation,  lest  they  receive  some  evil  from  their 
contact ;  nor  is  justice  administered  to  them  when  seeking 
it,  nor  is  any  dignity  bestowed  on  them. 

Over  all  these  Druids  one  presides,  who  possesses  supreme 
authority  among  them.  Upon  his  death,  if  any  individual 
among  the  rest  is  pre-eminent  in  dignity,  he  succeeds ;  but, 
if  there  are  many  equal,  the  election  is  made  by  the  suf- 
frages of  the  Druids;  sometimes  they  even  contend  for 
the  presidency  with  arms.  These  assemble  at  a  fixed 
period  of  the  year  in  a  consecrated  place  in  the  territories 
of  the  Carnutes,  which  is  reckoned  the  central  region  of 
the  whole  of  G-aul.  Hither  all  who  have  disputes  assem- 
ble from  ever}'-  part,  and  submit  to  their  decrees  and  deter- 
minations. This  institution  is  supposed  to  have  been  de- 
vised in  Britain,  and  to  have  been  brought  over  from  it 
into  Graul ;  and  now  those  who  desire  to  gain  a  more  ac- 
curate knowledge  of  that  system  generally  proceed  thither 
for  the  purpose  of  studying  it. 

The  Druids  do  not  go  to  wai',  nor  pay  tribute  together 
with  the  rest ;  they  have  an  exemption  from  military  ser- 
vice, and  a  dispensation  in  all  matters.  Induced  by  such 
great  advantages,  manj'-  embrace  this  profession  of  their 


Julius  C^SAR]  ANCIENT  GAULS  AND   GERMANS.  241 

own  accord,  and  [many]  are  sent  to  it  by  their  parents 
and  relatives.  Tliey  are  said  there  to  learn  by  heart  a 
great  number  of  verses ;  accordingly  some  remain  in  the 
course  of  training  twenty  years.  Nor  do  they  regard  it  as 
lawful  to  commit  these  to  writing,  though  in  almost  all 
other  matters,  in  their  public  and  private  transactions, 
they  use  Greek  characters.  .  .  .  They  wish  to  inculcate 
this  as  one  of  their  leading  tenets,  that  souls  do  not  be- 
come extinct,  but  pass  after  death  from  one  body  to 
another,  and  they  think  that  men  by  this  tenet  are  in  a 
great  degree  excited  to  valor,  the  fear  of  death  being  dis- 
regarded. They  likewise  discuss  and  impart  to  the  youth 
many  things  respecting  the  stars  and  their  motion,  respect- 
ing the  extent  of  the  Avorld  and  of  our  earth,  respecting 
the  nature  of  things,  respecting  the  power  and  the  majesty 
of  the  immortal  gods. 

The  other  order  is  that  of  the  knights.  These,  when 
there  is  occasion  and  any  war  occurs  [which  before  Caesar's 
arrival  was  for  the  most  part  wont  to  happen  every  year, 
as  they  were  constantly  either  inflicting  injuries  or  re- 
taliating those  which  others  inflicted  on  them],  are  all  en- 
gaged in  war.  And  those  of  them  most  distinguished  by 
birth  and  resources  have  the  greatest  number  of  vassals 
and  dependants  about  them.  They  acknowledge  this  sort 
of  influence  and  power  only. 

The  nation  of  all  the  Gauls  is  extremely  devoted  to  super- 
stitious rites ;  and  on  that  account  they  who  are  troubled 
with  unusually  severe  diseases,  and  they  who  are  engaged 
in  battles  and  dangers,  either  sacrifice  men  as  victims,  or 
vow  that  they  will  sacrifice  them,  and  employ  the  Druids 
as  the  performers  of  those  sacrifices ;  because  they  think 
that  unless  the  life  of  a  man  be  offered  for  the  life  of  a 
man,  the  mind  of  the  immortal  gods  cannot  be  rendered 
propitious,  and  they  have  sacrifices  of  that  kind  ordained 

I.— L  q  21 


2-i2  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.     [Julius  C^sar 

for  national  purposes.  Others  have  figures  of  vast  size, 
the  limbs  of  which,  formed  of  osiers,  they  fill  with  living 
men,  which  being  set  on  fire,  the  men  perish  enveloped  in 
the  flames.  They  consider  that  the  oblation  of  such  as 
have  been  taken  in  theft,  or  in  robbery,  or  any  other 
offence,  is  more  acceptable  to  the  immortal  gods ;  but  when 
a  supply  of  that  class  is  wanting,  they  have  recourse  to  the 
oblation  of  even  the  innocent. 

[The  historian  proceeds  to  say  that  they  worship  Mercury,  Apollo, 
Mai-s,  and  other  Roman  deities,  he  probably  giving  these  names  to 
the  Gallic  deities  most  like  them  in  attributes.] 

All  the  Gauls  assert  that  they  are  descended  from  the 
god  Dis,  and  say  that  this  tradition  has  been  handed  down 
by  the  Druids.  For  that  reason  they  compute  the  divis- 
ions of  every  season,  not  by  the  number  of  days,  but  of 
nights ;  they  keep  birthdays  and  the  beginnings  of  months 
and  years  in  such  an  order  that  the  day  follows  the  night. 
Among  the  other  usages  of  their  life,  they  differ  in  this 
from  almost  all  other  nations,  that  they  do  not  permit  their 
children  to  approach  them  openly  until  they  are  grown  up 
so  as  to  be  able  to  bear  the  service  of  war ;  and  they  re- 
gard it  as  indecorous  for  a  son  of  boyish  age  to  stand  in 
public  in  the  presence  of  his  father.  .  .  . 

Husbands  have  power  of  life  and  death  over  their  wives 
as  well  as  over  their  children :  and  when  the  father  of  a 
family  born  in  a  more  than  commonly  distinguished  rank 
has  died,  his  relations  assemble,  and,  if  the  circumstances 
of  his  death  are  suspicious,  hold  an  investigation  upon  the 
wives  in  the  manner  adopted  toward  slaves,  and,  if  pi'oof 
be  obtained,  put  them  to  severe  torture,  and  kill  them. 
Their  funerals,  considering  the  state  of  civilization  among 
the  Gauls,  are  magnificent  and  costly ;  and  they  cast  into 
the  fire  all  things,  including  living  creatures,  which  they 


Julius  C^sAR]  ANCIENT  GAULS  AND   GERMANS.  243 

suppose  to  have  been  dear  to  them  when  alive ;  and,  a  little 
before  this  period,  slaves  and  dependants  who  were  as- 
certained to  have  been  beloved  by  them  were,  after  the 
regular  funeral  rites  were  completed,  burnt  together  with 
them.  .  .  . 

The  Germans  differ  much  from  these  usages,  for  they 
have  neither  Druids  to  preside  over  sacred  offices,  nor  do 
they  pay  great  regard  to  sacrifices.  They  rank  in  the 
number  of  the  gods  those  alone  Avhom  they  behold  and 
by  whose  instrumentality  they  are  obviously  benefited, — 
namely,  the  sun,  fire,  and  the  moon ;  they  have  not  heard 
of  the  other  deities  even  by  report.  Their  whole  life  is 
occupied  in  hunting  and  in  the  pursuits  of  the  military 
art;  from  childhood  they  devote  themselves  to  fatigue 
and  hardships.  Those  who  have  remained  chaste  for  the 
longest  time  receive  the  greatest  commendation  among 
their  people  ;  they  think  that  by  this  the  growth  is  pro- 
moted, by  this  the  25hysical  powers  are  increased  and  the 
sinews  are  strengthened.  .  .  . 

They  do  not  pay  much  attention  to  agriculture,  and  a 
large  portion  of  their  food  consists  in  milk,  cheese,  and 
flesh ;  nor  has  any  one  a  fixed  quantity  of  land  or  his  own 
individual  limits,  but  the  magistrates  and  the  leading  men 
each  year  apportion  to  the  tribes  and  families,  who  have 
united  together,"  as  much  land  as,  and  in  the  place  in  which, 
they  think  proper,  and  the  year  after  compel  them  to  re- 
move elsewhere.  For  this  enactment  they  advance  many 
reasons :  lest,  seduced  by  long-continued  custom,  they  may 
exchange  their  ardor  in  the  waging  of  war  for  agriculture  ; 
lest  they  may  be  anxious  to  acquire  extensive  estates,  and 
the  more  powerful  drive  the  weaker  from  their  possessions; 
lest  they  construct  their  houses  with  too  great  a  desire  to 
avoid  heat  or  cold ;  lest  the  desire  of  wealth  spring  up, 
from  which  cause  divisions  and  discords  arise;  and  that 


244  BEST  FOREIGN  A  UTHORS.    [Julius  C^sar 

they  may  keep  the  common  people  in  a  contented  state  of 
mind,  when  each  sees  his  own  means  placed  on  an  equality 
with  [those  of]  the  most  powerful. 

It  is  the  greatest  glory  to  the  several  states  to  have  as 
wide  deserts  as  possible  around  them,  their  frontiers  having 
been  laid  waste.  They  consider  this  the  real  evidence  of 
their  prowess,  that  their  neighbors  shall  be  driven  out  of 
their  lands  and  abandon  them,  and  that  no  one  dare  settle 
near  them ;  at  the  same  time  they  think  that  they  shall 
be  on  that  account  the  more  secure,  because  they  have  re- 
moved the  apprehension  of  a  sudden  incursion.  When  a 
state  either  repels  war  waged  against  it,  or  wages  it  against 
another,  magistrates  are  chosen  to  preside  over  that  war 
with  such  authority  that  they  have  power  of  life  and  death. 
In  peace  there  is  no  common  magistrate,  but  the  chiefs  of 
provinces  and  cantons  administer  justice  and  determine 
controversies  among  their  own  people.  Robberies  which 
are  committed  beyond  the  boundaries  of  each  state  bear 
no  infamy,  and  they  avow  that  these  are  committed  for 
the  purpose  of  disciplining  their  youth  and  preventing 
sloth.  And  when  any  of  their  chiefs  has  said  in  an  as- 
sembly "  that  he  will  be  their  leader,  let  those  who  are 
willing  to  follow  give  in  their  names,"  they  who  approve 
of  both  the  enterprise  and  the  man  arise  and  promise  their 
assistance  and  are  applauded  by  the  people ;  such  of  them 
as  have  not  followed  him  are  accounted  in  the  number 
of  deserters  and  traitors,  and  confidence  in  all  matters  is 
afterwards  refused  them.  To  injure  guests  they  regard  as 
impious ;  they  defend  from  wrong  those  who  have  come  to 
them  for  any  purpose  whatever,  and  esteem  them  inviola- 
ble ;  to  them  the  houses  of  all  are  open  and  maintenance 
is  freely  supplied.  .  .  . 

The  breadth  of  the  Hercynian  forest  [the  greatest  known 
forest  of  ancient  Germany]  is,  to  a  quick  traveller,  a  journey 


Julius  C^sar]  ANCIENT  GAULS  AND   GERMANS.  2-i5 

of  nine  days.  For  it  cannot  bo  otherwise  computed,  nor 
are  they  acquainted  with  the  measures  of  roads.  It  begins 
at  the  fi'ontiers  of  the  Helvetii,  Nemetes,  and  Eauraci,  and 
extends  in  a  right  line  along  the  river  Danube  to  the  ter- 
ritories of  the  Daci  and  the  Anartes ;  it  bends  then  to  the 
left  in  a  different  direction  from  the  river,  and,  owing  to 
its  extent,  touches  the  confines  of  many  nations ;  nor  is 
there  any  person  belonging  to  this  part  of  Germany  who 
says  that  he  either  has  gone  to  the  extremity  of  that  forest, 
though  he  had  advanced  a  journey  of  sixty  days,  or  has 
heard  in  what  place  it  begins.  It  is  certain  that  many 
kinds  of  wild  beasts  are  produced  in  it  which  have  not 
been  seen  in  other  parts ;  of  which  the  following  are  such 
as  differ  princijtally  from  other  animals,  and  appear  worthy 
of  being  committed  to  record. 

There  is  an  ox  of  the  shape  of  a  stag,  between  whose 
ears  a  horn  rises  from  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  higher 
and  straighter  than  those  horns  which  are  known  to  us. 
From  the  top  of  this,  branches,  like  palms,  stretch  out  to 
a  considerable  distance.  The  shape  of  the  female  and  the 
male  is  the  same  j  the  appearance  and  the  size  of  the  horns 
are  the  same. 

There  are  also  [animals]  which  are  called  elks.  The 
shape  of  these,  and  the  varied  color  of  their  skins,  are  much 
like  roes,  but  in  size  they  surpass  them  a  little,  and  are 
destitute  of  horns,  and  have  legs  without  joints  and  liga- 
tures ;  nor  do  they  lie  down  for  the  purpose  of  rest,  noi", 
if  they  have  been  thrown  down  by  any  accident,  can  they 
raise  or  lift  themselves  up.  Trees  serve  as  beds  to  them ; 
they  lean  themselves  against  them,  and,  thus  reclining  only 
slightly,  they  take  their  rest ;  when  the  huntsmen  have  dis- 
covered from  the  footsteps  of  these  animals  whither  they 
are  accustomed  to  betake  themselves,  they  either  under- 
mine all  the  trees  at  the  roots,  or  cut  into  them  so  far  that 
I.  21* 


246  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tekknce 

the  uj)per  part  of  the  trees  may  appear  to  be  left  standing. 
When  they  have  leant  upon  them,  according  to  their  habit, 
they  knock  down  by  their  weight  the  unsupported  trees, 
and  fall  down  themselves  along  with  them. 

There  is  a  third  kind,  consisting  of  those  animals  which 
are  called  uri.  These  are  a  little  below  the  elephant  in 
size,  and  of  the  appearance,  color,  and  shape  of  a  bull. 
Their  strength  and  speed  are  extraordinary;  they  spare 
neither  man  nor  wild  beast  which  they  have  espied.  These 
the  Germans  take  with  much  pains  in  pits  and  kill  them. 
The  young  men  harden  themselves  with  this  exercise,  and 
practise  themselves  in  this  kind  of  hunting,  and  those  who 
have  slain  the  greatest  number  of  them,  having  produced 
the  horns  in  public,  to  serve  as  evidence,  receive  great 
praise.  But  not  even  when  taken  very  young  can  they 
be  rendered  familiar  to  men  and  tamed.  The  size,  shape, 
and  appearance  of  the  horns  differ  much  from  the  horns 
of  our  oxen.  These  they  anxiously  seek  after,  and  bind  at 
the  tijis  with  silver,  and  use  as  cups  at  their  most  sumptu- 
ous entertainments. 

[Ill  these  natural-history  details  Ca?sar  repeats  the  fables  of  hunters 
with  all  the  ancient  credulity  on  such  subjects.  His  description  of  the 
uros,  however,  contains  but  few  inaccuracies.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 

TERENCE. 

[Publius  Terentius  Afer,  a  native  of  Carthage,  born  185  B.C.,  became 
the  slave  of  a  Koman  senator,  who,  out  of  regard  for  his  beauty  and 
ability,  highly  educated  him,  and  finally  gave  him  his  freedom.  Pol- 
lowing  the  example  of  Plautus,  he  undertook  the  production  of  com- 
edies, and  his  first  play,  "  The  Andrian,"  was  so  successful  as  to  give 


Terence]  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  247 

him  at  once  a  high  standing  in  Koman  society.  Six  of  his  comedies 
are  extant,  which  perhaps  are  all  he  wrote,  as  he  died  young.  After 
some  years  spent  in  the  art  of  the  dramatist  at  Rome,  he  went  to  Greece, 
where  he  translated  one  hundred  and  eight  of  Menander's  comedies. 
He  never  returned,  and  is  supposed  to  have  died  when  thirty-six  or 
thirty-seven  years  of  age. 

The  plays  of  Terence  possess  a  purity  of  language  equal  to  that  of 
Cicero  and  Cfesar.  They  are  graceful  in  style  and  thoroughly  moral 
in  tone,  heing  free  from  the  grossness  of  those  of  Plautus.  They  do 
not  equal  the  latter  in  humor  and  hustle,  but  display  much  more  ele- 
gance and  refinement,  while  they  are  superior  in  consistency  of  plot 
and  character,  in  tenderness,  wit,  and  metrical  skill.  The  works  of 
Terence,  like  those  of  Plautus,  have  been  studied  as  models  by  many 
modern  playwrights.  The  plot  of  "  The  Andrian,"  from  which  we 
quote,  is  acknowledged  by  the  author  to  be  taken  from  two  plays  of 
Menander,  which  he  has  skilfully  woven  into  one.  The  main  points 
in  the  play  are  as  follows.  Pamphilus,  the  son  of  Simo,  becomes  at- 
tached to  a  girl  from  Andros,  of  whose  antecedents  nothing  is  known. 
He  has  been  betrothed  by  his  father  to  the  daughter  of  a  friend  named 
Chremes.  Simo  discovers  his  son's  passion,  but,  in  order  to  learn  his 
true  sentiments,  arranges  a  mock  marriage  and  declares  to  him  that 
the  wedding  shall  take  place.  In  this  difficulty  Pamphilus  applies  to 
Davus,  a  cunning  slave,  who  advises  him  to  otfer  no  opposition.  At 
this  Simo,  overjoyed  with  his  son's  compliance,  gives  up  his  scheme, 
and  decides  that  the  actual  marriage  shall  take  place  at  once,  the  plot- 
ters being  thus  caught  in  their  own  trap.  Pamphilus,  in  despair,  is 
inclined  to  revenge  himself  on  Davus  for  his  mischievous  advice,  but 
the  latter,  by  a  shrewd  trick,  induces  Chremes  to  refuse  his  assent  to  the 
marriage.  Finally  Chremes  discovers  that  the  Andrian  is  actually  his 
own  daughter,  whom  he  had  intrusted  to  the  care  of  a  brother,  now 
dead.  Pamphilus,  therefore,  obtains  the  desired  lady  as  his  wife,  and 
all  ends  happily.  We  select,  from  the  translation  by  Colman,  some 
scenes  from  this  comedy.] 

Simo.  'Tis  now  about  three  years  ago, 
A  certain  woman  from  the  isle  of  Andros 
Came  o'er  to  settle  in  this  neighborhood, 
By  poverty  and  cruel  kindred  driven  : 
Handsome  and  young. 


248  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tebencb 

Sosia.  Ah !  I  begin  to  fear 

Some  mischief  from,  this  Andrian. 

Sim.  At  first 

Modest  and  thriftily,  though  poor,  she  lived, 
With  her  own  hands  a  homely  livelihood 
Scarce  earning  from  the  distaif  and  the  loom. 
They  who  were  then  her  chief  gallants,  by  chance 
Drew  thither,  as  oft  happens  with  young  men. 
My  son  to  join  their  company. 
Strong  I  believed  his  virtue  proved,  and  hence 
Thought  him  a  miracle  of  continence ; 
For  he  who  struggles  with  such  spirits,  yet 
Holds  in  that  commerce  an  unshaken  mind, 
May  well  be  trusted  with  the  governance 
Of  his  own  conduct.     Nor  was  I  alone 
Delighted  with  his  life,  but  all  the  world 
With  one  accord  said  all  good  things,  and  praised 
My  happy  fortunes,  who  possessed  a  son 
So  good,  so  liberally  disposed. — In  short, 
Chremes,  seduced  by  this  fine  character, 
Came  of  his  own  accord  to  offer  me 
His  only  daughter  with  a  handsome  portion 
In  marriage  with  my  son.     I  liked  the  match ; 
Betrothed  my  son ;  and  this  was  pitched  upon, 
By  joint  agreement,  for  the  wedding  day. 

Sos.  And  what  prevents  its  being  so  ? 

Sim.  I'll  tell  you. 

In  a  few  days,  the  treaty  still  on  foot, 
This  neighbor  Chrysis  dies. 

^05.  In  happy  hour : 

Hapj)y  for  you !     I  was  afraid  of  Chrysis. 

Siin.  My  son,  on  this  event,  was  often  there 
With  those  who  were  the  late  gallants  of  Chrysis ; 
Assisted  to  prepare  the  funeral, 


Terence]  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  249 

Ever  condoled,  and  sometimes  wept  with  them. 
This  pleased  me  then ;  for  in  myself  I  thought, 
Since  merely  for  a  small  acquaintance'  sake 
He  takes  this  woman's  death  so  nearly,  what 
If  he  himself  had  loved  ?     What  would  ho  feel 
For  me,  his  father  ?     All  these  things,  I  thought, 
Were  but  the  tokens  and  the  offices 
Of  a  humane  and  tender  disposition. 
In  short,  on  his  account,  e'en  I  myself 
Attend  the  funeral,  suspecting  yet 
No  harm. 

Sos.        And  what  ? 

Sim.                             You  shall  hear  all.     The  corpse 
Borne  forth,  we  follow ;  when,  among  the  women 
Attending  there,  I  chanced  to  cast  my  eyes 
Upon  one  girl,  in  form 

Sos.  Not  bad,  perhaps. 

Sim.  And  look,  so  modest  and  so  beauteous,  Sosia, 
That  nothing  could  exceed  it.     As  she  seemed 
To  grieve  beyond  the  rest,  and  as  her  air 
Appeared  more  liberal  and  ingenuous, 
I  went  and  asked  her  women  who  she  was. 
Sister,  they  said,  to  Chrysis :  when  at  once 
It  struck  my  mind — So !  so !  the  secret's  out ; 
Hence  all  those  tears,  and  hence  all  that  compassion. 

Sos.  Alas !  I  fear  how  this  affair  will  end. 

Sim.  Meanwhile  the  funeral  proceeds ;  we  follow ; 
Come  to  the  sepulchre ;  the  body's  placed 
Upon  the  pile  ;  lamented  ;  whereupon 
This  sister  I  was  speaking  of,  all  wild. 
Ran  to  the  flames  with  peril  of  her  life. 
Then !  there !  the  affrighted  Pamphilus  betrays 
His  well-dissembled  and  long-hidden  love ; 
Runs  up,  and  takes  her  round  the  waist,  and  cries, 


250  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Terence 

0  my  Glycerium !  what  is  it  you  do  ? 
"Why  thus  endeavor  to  destroy  yourself? 
Then  she,  in  such  a  manner  that  you  thence 
Might  easily  perceive  their  long,  long  love, 
Threw  herself  back  into  his  arms,  and  wept, 
Oh,  how  familiarly! 

Sos.  How  say  you  ? 

Sim.  I 

jReturn  in  anger  thence,  and  hurt  at  heart, 
Yet  had  no  cause  sufficient  for  reproof. 
What  have  I  done?  he'd  say;  or  how  deserved 
Eeproach  ?  or  how  offended,  father  ? — Her 
"Who  meant  to  cast  herself  into  the  flames 

1  stopped.     A  fair  excuse ! 

Sos.  You're  in  the  right ; 

For  him  who  saved  a  life  if  you'd  reprove. 
What  will  you  do  to  him  that  offers  wrong  ? 

Sim.  Chremes  next  day  came  open-mouthed  to  me : 
Oh,  monstrous  !  he  had  found  that  Pamphilus 
Was  married  to  this  stranger  woman !     I 
Deny  the  fact  most  steadily,  and  he 
As  steadily  insists.     In  short,  we  part 
On  such  bad  terms  as  let  me  understand 
He  would  refuse  his  daughter. 

Sos.  Did  not  you 

Then  take  your  son  to  task  ? 

Sim.  Not  even  this 

Appeared  sufficient  for  reproof. 

Sos.  How  so  ? 

Sim.  Father  (he  might  have  said),  you  have,  you  know, 
Prescribed  a  term  to  all  these  things  yourself. 
The  time  is  near  at  hand  when  I  must  live 
According  to  the  humor  of  another. 
Meanwhile,  permit  me  now  to  please  my  own. 


Terence]  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  251 

Sos.  What  cause  remains  to  chide  him,  then  ? 

Sim.  If  he 

Refuses,  on  account  of  this  amour. 
To  take  a  wife,  such  obstinate  denial 
Must  be  considered  as  his  first  offence. 
"Wherefore  I  now  from  this  mock  nuptial 
Endeavor  to  draw  real  cause  to  chide  : 
And  that  same  rascal  Davus,  if  he's  plotting, 
That  he  may  let  his  counsel  run  to  waste, 
]^ow,  when  his  knaveries  can  do  no  harm  ; 
Who,  I  believe,  with  all  his  might  and  main 
Will  strive  to  cross  ray  purposes  ;  and  that 
More  to  plague  me  than  to  oblige  my  son. 

Sos.  Why  so  ? 

Sim.  Why  so !     Bad  mind,  bad  heart.     But  if 
I  catch  him  at  his  tricks ! — But  what  need  words  ? — 
If,  as  I  wish  it  may,  it  should  aj^pear 
That  Pamphilus  objects  not  to  the  match, 
Chremes  remains  to  be  prevailed  upon. 
And  will,  I  hope,  consent.     'Tis  now  your  place 
To  counterfeit  these  nuptials  cunningly ; 
To  frighten  Davus ;  and  observe  my  son, 
What  he's  about,  what  plots  they  hatch  together. 

Sos.  Enough ;  I'll  take  good  care.     Let's  now  go  in. 

Sim.  Gro  first ;  I'll  follow  you.  \^Exit  Sosia. 

Beyond  all  doubt 

My  son's  averse  to  take  a  wife ;  I  saw 

How  frightened  Davus  was,  but  even  now. 

When  he  was  told  a  nuj)tial  was  preparing. 

But  here  he  comes. 

Scene  III. 

Davus,  aloiic. 

Troth,  Davus,  'tis  high  time  to  look  about  you ; 

No  room  for  sloth,  as  far  as  I  can  sound 


252  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Terence 

The  sentiments  of  our  old  gentleman 

About  this  marriage  ;  which,  if  not  fought  off, 

And  cunningly,  spoils  me,  or  my  poor  master. 

I  know  not  what  to  do ;  nor  can  resolve 

To  help  the  son,  or  to  obey  the  father. 

If  I  desert  poor  Pamphilus,  alas ! 

I  tremble  for  his  life  ;  if  I  assist  him, 

I  dread  his  father's  threats, — a  shrewd  old  cuff, 

Not  easily  deceived.     For,  first  of  all, 

He  knows  of  this  amour, — and  watches  me 

With  jealous  eyes,  lest  I  devise  some  trick 

To  break  the  match.     If  he  discovers  it. 

Woe  to  poor  Davus !  nay,  if  he's  inclined 

To  punish  me,  he'll  seize  on  some  pretence 

To  throw  me  into  prison,  right  or  wrong. 

[In  Scene  V.,  Mysis,  the  maid-servant  of  Glycerium,  overhears 
Pamphilus  soliloquizing  on  the  order  which  his  father  has  given  him 
to  prepare  for  the  wedding.] 

Pam.  Is  this  well  done  ?  or  like  a  man  ?     Is  this 
The  action  of  a  father  ? 

Mysis  {behind).  What's  the  matter? 

Fam.    Oh,  all  ye  powers  of  heaven  and  earth,  what's 
wrong 
If  this  be  not  so?     If  he  was  determined 
That  I  to-day  should  marry,  should  I  not 
Have  had  some  previous  notice  ?  ought  not  he 
To  have  informed  me  of  it  long  ago  ? 

Mys.  Alas !  what's  this  I  hear  ? 

Pam.  And  Chremes,  too. 

Who  had  refused  to  trust  me  with  his  daughter, 
Changes  his  mind  because  I  change  not  mine. 
Can  he  then  be  so  obstinately  bent 
To  tear  me  from  Glycerium  ?     To  lose  her 


Terence]  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  253 

Is  losing  life. — Was  ever  man  so  crost, 
So  curst,  as  I  ? — Oh,  powers  of  heaven  and  earth ! 
Can  I  by  no  means  fly  from  this  alliance 
With  Chremes'  family? — so  oft  contemned 
And  held  in  scorn  ! — all  done,  concluded  all ! — 
Rejected,  then  recalled : — and  why  ? — unless 
(For  so  I  must  susjDcct)  they  breed  some  monster, 
Whom,  as  they  can  obtrude  on  no  one  else, 
They  bring  to  me. 

Mys.  Alas,  alas  !  this  speech 

Has  struck  me  almost  dead  with  fear. 

Pam.  And  then 

My  father  ! — what  to  say  to  him  ?     Oh,  shame ! 
A  thing  of  so  much  consequence,  to  treat 
So  negligently !     For  but  even  now, 
Passing  me  in  the  Forum, — Pamphilus ! 
To-day's  your  wedding-day,  said  he ;  prepare ; 
Go,  get  you  home ! — This  sounded  in  my  ears 
As  if  he  said,  Gro,  hang  yourself! — I  stood 
Confounded.     Think  you  I  could  speak  one  word, 
Or  offer  an  excuse,  how  weak  soever  ? 
No,  I  was  dumb ;  and  had  I  been  aware. 
Should  any  ask  what  I'd  have  done,  I  would, 
Rather  than  this,  do  anything. — But  now, 
What  to  resolve  upon  ?     So  many  cares 
Entangle  me  at  once,  and  rend  my  mind. 
Pulling  it  different  ways.     My  love,  compassion, 
This  urgent  match,  my  reverence  for  my  father, 
Who  yet  has  ever  been  so  gentle  to  me, 
And  held  so  slack  a  rein  upon  my  pleasures ; 
And  I  oppose  him !     Racking  thought!     Ah  me! 
I  know  not  what  to  do. 

Mys.  Alas !  I  fear 

Where  this  uncertainty  will  end.     'Twere  best 
I.  22 


254  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Terence 

He  should  confer  with  her,  or  I  at  least 

Speak  touching  her  to  him.     For  while  the  mind 

Hangs  in  suspense  a  trifle  turns  the  scale. 

JPam.  Who's  there?  what,  Mysis!     Save  you! 

Mys.  (coming  forward).  Save  you,  sir ! 

Fam.  How  does  she  ? 

Mys.  How  ?  opprest  with  wretchedness ; 

To-day  supremely  wretched,  as  to-day 
Was  formerly  aj^pointed  for  your  wedding ; 
And  then  she  fears  lest  you  desert  her. 

Pam.  I ! 

Desert  her  ?     Can  I  think  on't  ?  or  deceive 
A  wretched  maid  who  trusted  to  my  care 
Her  life  and  honor  ? — her  whom  I  have  held 
Near  to  my  heart  and  cherished  as  my  wife  ? 
Or  leave  her  modest  and  well-nurtured  mind 
Through  want  to  be  corrupted  ?     Never !  never ! 

Mys.  No  doubt,  did  it  depend  on  you  alone  ; 
But  if  constrained 

Pam.  H'ye  think  me,  then,  so  vile. 

Or  so  ungrateful,  so  inhuman,  savage, 
Neither  long  intercourse,  nor  love,  nor  shame, 
Can  make  me  keep  my  faith  ? 

Mys.  I  only  know 

That  she  deserves  you  should  remember  her. 

Pam.  I  should  remember  her !     Oh,  Mysis,  Mysis ! 
The  words  of  Chrysis  touching  my  Grlycerium 
Are  written  in  my  heart.     On  her  death-bed 
She  called  me.     I  approached  her.     You  retired. 
We  were  alone  ;  and  Chrysis  thus  began  : 
M}^  Pamphilus,  you  see  the  youth  and  beauty 
Of  this  unhappy  maid  ;  and  well  you  know 
These  are  but  feeble  guardians  to  preserve 
Her  fortune  or  her  fame.     By  this  right  hand 


Terence]  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  255 

I  do  beseech  you,  by  youi'  better  angel, 

By  your  tried  faith,  by  her  forlorn  condition, 

I  do  conjure  you,  put  her  not  away, 

Nor  leave  her  to  distress.     If  I  have  ever 

As  my  own  brother  loved  you,  or  if  she 

Has  ever  held  you  dear  'bove  all  the  world, 

And  ever  shown  obedience  to  your  will — 

I  do  bequeath  you  to  her  as  a  husband, 

Friend,  guardian,  fother  :  all  our  little  wealth 

To  you  I  leave,  and  trust  it  to  your  care. — 

She  joined  our  hands,  and  died. — I  did  receive  her, 

And,  once  received,  will  keep  her. 

[The  tenderness  and  devotion  of  the  love-scenes  here  given  are  un- 
usual in  the  ancient  drama.  The  emotion  of  love,  in  its  modern  sense, 
as  here  displayed,  does  not  exist  in  the  extant  tragedy  and  comedy  of 
Greece,  though  we  are  not  able  to  decide  to  what  extent  it  inspired  the 
new  comedy,  the  basis  of  the  Koman  drama.  "We  give  one  further 
scene  from  this  interesting  play,  that  in  which  Davus  finds  himself 
caught  in  the  net  of  his  own  plots.  This  selection  is  from  the  prose 
version  of  Riley.] 

SiMO,  to  whoyn  enter  Davus. 

Dav.  I  was  coming  to  you. 

Sim.   Why,  what  is  the  matter  ? 

Dav.  AVhy  is  not  the  bride  sent  for  ?  It  is  now  growing 
late  in  the  day. 

Rim.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  I  have  been  for  some  time  not  a 
little  apprehensive  of  you,  Davus,  lest  you  should  do  that 
which  the  common  class  of  servants  is  in  the  habit  of 
doing, — namely,  imposing  upon  me  by  your  artifices. 

Dav.  What !  I  do  that  ? 

Sim.  I  fancied  so ;  and,  therefore,  fearing  that,  I  con- 
cealed from  you  what  I  shall  now  mention. 

Dav.  What? 


256  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Terence 

Sim.  You  shall  know ;  for  now  I  almost  feel  confidence 
in  5'ou. 

Dav.  Have  you  found  out  at  last  what  sort  of  person  I 
am? 

Sim.  The  marriage  was  not  to  have  taken  place. 

Dav.  How  ?    Not  to  have  taken  place ! 

Sim.  But  I  was  making  pretence,  that  I  might  test  you  all. 

Dav.  (affecting  surprise).  What  is  it  you  tell  me  ? 

Sim.  Such  is  the  fact. 

Dav.  Only  see ;  I  was  not  able  to  discover  that.  Dear 
me,  what  a  cunning  contrivance ! 

Sim.  Listen  to  this.  Just  as  1  ordered  you  to  go  from 
here  into  the  house,  he  (pointing  to  Chremes)  most  oppor- 
tunely met  me. 

Dav.  (aside).  Ho!     Are  we  undone,  then ? 

Sim.  I  told  him  what  you  just  now  told  me.  [J.c,  that 
Pamphilus  consented  to  the  wedding.] 

Dav.  (aside).  Whj^,  what  am  I  to  hear? 

Sim.  I  begged  him  to  give  his  daughter,  and  with  dif- 
ficulty I  prevailed  upon  him. 

Dav.  (aside).  Truly  ruined ! 

Sim.  (overhearing).  Eh  !     What  was  it  you  said? 

Dav.  Extremely  well  done,  I  say. 

Sim.  There  is  no  delay  on  his  part  now. 

Chremes.  I'll  go  home  at  once.  I'll  tell  her  to  make  due 
preparation  and  bring  back  word  here.  [^Exit. 

Sim.  Now  I  do  entreat  you,  Davus,  since  you  have  your- 
self brought  about  this  marriage  for  me 

Dav.  I  myself,  indeed ! 

Sim.  Do  your  best  still  to  reform  my  son. 

Dav.  Troth,  I'll  do  it  with  all  care. 

Sim.  Do  it  now,  while  his  mind  is  agitated. 

Dav.  You  may  be  at  ease. 

Sim.  Come,  then  ;  where  is  he  just  now  ? 


Terence]  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  257 

Dav.  A  wonder  if  he  is  not  at  home. 

Sim.  I'll  go  to  him ;  and  what  I  have  been  telling  you 
I'll  tell  him  as  well.  [^Exit. 

Dav.  (to  himself).  I'm  a  lost  man!  What  reason  is  there 
why  I  should  not  take  my  departure  straightway  for  the 
mill?  There  is  no  room  left  for  supplicating.  I  have 
uj)set  everything  now.  I  have  deceived  my  master ;  I 
have  plunged  my  master's  son  into  a  marriage.  I  have 
been  the  cause  of  its  taking  place  this  very  day,  without 
his  hoping  for  it,  and  against  the  will  of  Pamphilus.  Here 
is  cleverness  for  you  !  But  if  I  had  kept  myself  quiet  no 
mischief  would  have  happened.  (Starting.')  But  see !  I 
espy  him.  I  am  truly  undone!  Would  that  there  were 
some  spot  here  for  me  from  which  I  might  this  instant 
pitch  myself  headlong !     (Stands  apart.) 

Enter  Pamphilus,  in  haste. 

Pam.  Where  is  he  ? — the  villain  who  this  day I  am 

ruined,  and  I  confess  this  has  justly  befallen  me,  for  being 
such  a  dolt,  so  devoid  of  sense,  that  I  should  have  in- 
trusted my  fortunes  to  a  frivolous  slave !  I  am  suffering 
the  reward  of  my  folly.  Still,  he  shall  never  get  off  from 
me  unpunished  for  this. 

Dav.  (apart).  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  shall  be  safe  in 
future,  if  for  the  present  I  get  clear  of  this  mishap. 

Pam.  But  what  now  am  I  to  say  to  my  father  ?  Am  I 
to  deny  that  I  am  ready,  who  have  just  promised  to  marry  ? 
With  what  effrontery  can  I  presume  to  do  that  ?  I  know 
not  what  to  do  with  myself. 

Dav.  (apart).  JS'or  I  with  myself;  and  yet  I  am  giving 
all  due  attention  to  it.  I  will  tell  him  that  I  will  devise 
something,  in  order  that  I  may  procure  some  respite  in 
this  dilemma. 

Pam.  (catching  sight  of  him).  Oho ! 
i.—r  22* 


258  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHOTtS.  [Various 

Bav.  (apart).  I  am  seen. 

Pam.  (sneeringly).  How  now,  good  sir,  what  ai-e  you 
about?  Do  you  see  how  dreadfully  I  am  hampered  by 
your  devices  ? 

Dav.  Still,  I  will  soon  extricate  you. 

Pam.  You  extricate  me  ? 

Dav.  Assuredly,  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  As  you  have  just  done,  I  suj)pose. 

Dav.  Why,  no  better,  I  trust. 

Pam.  What,  am  I  to  believe  you,  you  scoundrel  ?  You, 
indeed,  make  good  a  matter  that  is  all  embarrassment  and 
ruin  !  Just  see  in  whom  I  have  been  placing  reliance !  You 
this  day,  from  a  most  happy  state,  have  plunged  me  into  a 
marriage.     Did  not  I  say  that  this  would  be  the  case  ? 

Dav.  You  did  say  so. 

Pam.  What  do  you  deserve  ? 

Dav.  The  cross.  But  allow  me  a  little  time  to  recover 
myself.     I  will  soon  hit  upon  something. 

Pam.  Ah  me !  not  to  have  the  leisure  to  inflict  punish- 
ment on  you  as  I  desire!  For  the  present  conjuncture 
warns  me  to  take  precautions  for  myself,  not  to  be  taking 
vengeance  on  you.  lE.xit. 

[As  we  have  said,  Davus  unties  the  knot  he  has  tied,  and  all  ends 
happily.  It  may  be  remarked  that  the  plot  of  this  play  depends  upon 
the  power  which  a  Koman  father  possessed  by  law  over  his  son,  of 
which  scarcely  a  trace  remains  in  modern  times.] 


THE  ORATORY  OF  ATHENS. 

VARIOUS. 

[Of  the  speeches  of  the  early  orators  of  Greece  we  have  no  existing 
examples,  but  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  they  were  inferior  in  their 
art  to  those  whose  works  we  possess,  Lysias,  Isocrates,  Isseus,  and  their 


Various]  THE   ORATORY  OF  ATHENS.  259 

successors.  Lysias,  the  earliest  of  these,  is  of  uncertain  date,  his  birth 
being  placed  at  458  and  435  B.C.  by  different  critics.  In  his  earlier 
attempts  at  oratory  he  was  affected  by  the  artificial  manner  of  the  pre- 
ceding schools,  but  in  his  great  speech  against  Eratosthenes,  one  of  the 
thirty  tyrants  of  Athens,  he  dropped  this  stilted  mode,  and  broke  out 
in  a  burst  of  simple  and  vigorous  eloquence  that  must  have  astonished 
and  carried  away  his  hearers.  Thus  was  established  a  new  school  of 
oratory,  which  became  the  model  for  his  great  successors. 

The  style  of  Lysias  is  particularly  admired  for  its  purity.  His  lan- 
guage is  simple,  his  reasoning  clear,  his  narrative  natural  and  lively, 
while  his  subjects  are  treated  with  an  elegance  which  makes  each  ora- 
tion a  finished  work  of  art.  He  is,  however,  more  noted  for  persua- 
siveness than  for  vigor  and  power  of  exciting  his  audience  to  passion. 
We  select  an  extract  from  his  one  public  speech,  the  oration  against 
Eratosthenes,  who,  during  his  period  of  power,  had  been  instrumental 
in  the  murder  of  the  brother  of  the  orator.] 

It  is  an  easy  matter,  O  Athenians,  to  begin  this  accusa- 
tion. But  to  end  it  without  doing  injustice  to  the  cause 
will  be  attended  with  no  small  difficulty.  For  the  crimes 
of  Eratosthenes  are  not  only  too  atrocious  to  describe,  but 
too  many  to  enumerate.  No  exaggeration  can  exceed,  and 
within  the  time  assigned  for  this  discourse  it  is  impossible 
fully  to  represent  them.  This  trial,  too,  is  attended  with 
another  singularity.  In  other  causes  it  is  usual  to  ask  the 
accusers,  "  AVhat  is  your  resentment  against  the  defend- 
ants?" But  here  you  must  ask  the  defendants,  "What 
was  your  resentment  against  your  country  ?  What  malice 
did  you  bear  your  fellow-citizens  ?  Why  did  you  rage  with 
unbridled  fury  against  the  state  itself?"  ,  .  . 

The  time  is  now  indeed  come,  Athenians,  when,  insensible 
to  pity  and  tenderness,  you  must  be  armed  with  just  severity 
against  Eratosthenes  and  his  associates.  What  avails  it  to 
have  conquered  them  in  the  field,  if  you  be  overcome  by 
them  in  your  councils  ?  Do  not  show  them  more  favor 
for  what  they  boast  they  will  perform,  than  resentment  for 


260  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

what  thoy  have  already  committed,  nor,  after  being  at  so 
much  pains  to  become  master  of  their  persons,  allow  them 
to  escape  without  suffering  that  punishment  which  you 
once  sought  to  inflict,  but  prove  yourselves  worthy  of  that 
good  fortune  which  has  given  you  power  over  your  ene- 
mies. The  contest  is  very  unequal  between  Eratosthenes 
and  you :  formerly  he  was  both  judge  and  accuser ;  but 
we,  even  while  we  accuse,  must  at  the  same  time  make  our 
defence.  Those  who  were  innocent  he  put  to  death  without 
trial ;  to  them  who  are  guilty  we  allow  the  benefit  of  law, 
even  though  no  adequate  punishment  can  ever  be  inflicted. 
For  should  we  sacrifice  them  and  their  children,  would  this 
compensate  for  the  murder  of  your  fathers,  your  sons,  and 
your  brothers  ?  Should  we  deprive  them  of  their  property, 
could  this  indemnify  the  individuals  whom  they  have  beg- 
gared, or  the  state  which  they  have  plundered?  Though 
they  cannot  suffer  a  punishment  adequate  to  their  demerit, 
they  ought  not  surely  on  this  account  to  escape.  Yet  how 
matchless  is  the  effrontery  of  Eratosthenes,  who,  being 
now  judged  by  the  very  persons  whom  he  formerly  injured, 
still  ventures  to  make  his  defence  before  the  witnesses  of 
his  crimes  !  What  can  show  more  evidently  the  contempt 
in  which  he  holds  you,  or  the  confidence  which  he  reposes 
in  others  ? 

Let  me  now  conclude  with  laying  before  you  the  miseries 
to  which  you  were  reduced,  that  you  may  see  the  necessity 
of  taking  punishment  on  the  authors  of  them.  And,  first, 
you  who  remained  in  the  city,  consider  the  severity  of 
their  government ;  you  were  reduced  into  such  a  situation 
as  to  be  obliged  to  carry  on  a  war  in  which,  if  you  were 
conquered,  you  partook,  indeed,  of  the  same  liberty  as  the 
conquerors,  but  if  you  proved  victorious  you  remained 
under  the  slavery  of  your  magistrates.  ...  As  to  you  of 


Various]  THE   ORATORY   OF  ATHENS.  261 

the  Pirffius,  you  will  remember  that,  though  you  never  lost 
your  ai"ms  in  the  battles  which  you  fought,  or  in  the  lands 
which  you  traversed,  yet  you  suffered  by  these  men  what 
foreign  arms  could  never  accomplish,  and  at  home,  in  time 
of  peace,  were  disarmed  by  your  fellow-citizens.  By  them 
you  were  banished  from  the  country  left  you  by  your 
fathers ;  their  rage,  knowing  no  abatement,  pursued  you 
abroad,  and  drove  you  from  one  territory  to  another. 
Recall  the  same  resentment  which  you  then  felt.  Remem- 
ber the  cruel  indignities  vf  hich  you  suffered ;  how  you 
were  dragged  from  the  tribunal  and  the  altars ;  how  no 
place,  however  sacred,  could  shelter  you  against  their  vio- 
lence ;  while  others,  torn  from  their  wives,  their  children, 
their  parents,  after  putting  a  period  to  their  miserable 
lives,  were  deprived  of  funeral  rites.  For  these  tj-rants 
imagined  their  government  to  be  so  firmly  established  that 
even  the  vengeance  of  the  gods  was  unable  to  shake  it.  .  .  . 
But  it  is  impossible  for  one  man,  or  in  the  course  of  one 
trial,  to  enumerate  the  means  which  were  employed  to 
undermine  the  j)Ower  of  this  state, — the  arsenals  which 
were  demolished,  the  temples  sold  or  profaned,  the  citizens 
banished  or  murdered,  and  whose  dead  bodies  were  im- 
l^iously  left  uninterred.  Those  citizens  now  watch  your 
decree,  uncertain  whether  you  will  prove  accomplices  in 
their  death  or  avengers  of  their  murder.  I  shall  desist 
from  any  further  accusations.  You  have  heard,  you  have 
seen,  you  have  experienced.     Decide,  then ! 

[The  second  of  these  great  orators,  Isocrates,  horn  at  Athens  in  436 
B.C.,  was  a  writer  of  orations  rather  than  a  deliverer  of  them.  The 
weakness  of  his  voice  prevented  him  from  speaking  often  in  public, 
but  his  school  of  oratoiy  was  much  the  niost  famous  in  Greece.  His 
orations  are  distinguished  by  polish  rather  than  by  warmth.  In  them 
the  harmony  of  language  reaches  its  ultimate,  and  the  Attic  dialect 
its  height  of  finish  and  refinement.     So  melodiously  flow  his  sentences 


262  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

as  to  become  somewhat  monotonous  from  mere  excess  of  polish,  and 
they  are  as  far  from  the  native  simjalicity  of  Lysias  as  from  the  nervous 
strength  of  Demosthenes.  His  celebrated  "Panegyric,"  an  oration  in 
praise  of  the  Athenians,  took  ten  years  for  its  final  polishing.  Of 
course  this  excessive  finish  of  language  cannot  be  looked  for  in  a 
translation.  We  extract  from  it  the  following  praise  of  Athenian 
eloquence.] 

In  other  countries  of  Greece  the  assemblies  continue  but 
for  a  short  time,  and  meet  at  distant  intervals.  But  Athens 
is  a  constant  assembly  to  all  those  who  choose  to  frequent 
it ;  Athens  also  is  the  seat  of  philosophy  which  hath  con- 
trived and  established  all  those  institutions  which  have 
softened  our  manners  and  regulated  our  conduct,  and 
which,  by  teaching  us  to  distinguish  between  evils  brought 
upon  us  by  imprudence  and  those  inflicted  by  necessity, 
hath  enabled  us  to  ward  off  the  one,  and  to  bear  the  other 
honorably.  Athens  likewise  is  the  theatre  of  eloquence, 
a  talent  which  all  men  are  ambitious  to  acquire,  and  which 
excites  so  much  envy  against  those  who  actually  possess 
it.  She  has  ever  been  sensible  that  speech  is  the  original 
characteristic  of  human  nature,  and  that  it  is  by  the  em- 
ployment of  it  alone  we  acquire  all  those  powers  which 
distinguish  us  from  other  animals.  She  has  ever  been 
sensible  that  fortune  might  disturb  the  order  of  events, 
confound  the  designs  of  the  wise,  and  give  success  to  the 
rash  attempts  of  folly  and  inexperience ;  but  that  the  art 
of  speaking  with  elegance  and  force  was  superior  even  to 
fortune,  and  could  never  be  acquired  but  by  men  of  judg- 
ment and  ability ;  that  eloquence  formed  the  true  distinc- 
tion between  the  rustic  and  the  sage ;  that  it  was  neither 
by  their  valor,  their  riches,  nor  any  such  advantages,  but 
by  their  eloquence  alone,  that  those  who  had  received  a 
liberal  education  rendered  themselves  conspicuous;  that 
this  was  the  surest  test  of  the  manner  in  which  each  of 


Various]  THE   ORATORY  OF  ATHENS.  263 

us  had  been  educated ;  that  it  was  by  eloquence,  in  fine, 
we  not  only  acquired  an  irresistible  influence  over  those 
among  whom  we  lived,  but  diffused  our  reputation  and 
extended  our  power  over  countries  the  most  remote  from 
us.  In  eloquence  and  philosophy,  therefore,  Athens  so 
far  excels  all  other  nations  that  those  who  are  considered 
as  novices  at  home  become  masters  elsewhere ;  that  the 
name  of  Greek  is  not  employed  to  denote  the  inhabitant 
of  a  particular  country,  but  rather  the  talents  for  which 
the  men  of  that  country  are  distinguished ;  and  that  this 
appellation  is  more  frequently  bestowed  on  such  as  are 
acquainted  with  our  literature  than  on  those  who  were 
born  in  our  territories. 

[From  the  oration  to  Demonicus  we  select  the  following  bits  of  the 
gold  of  good  advice.] 

In  the  first  place,  show  your  gratitude  to  heaven,  not 
only  by  sacrifices,  but  by  a  steady  veracity,  and  sacred 
observance  of  all  leagues  and  oaths.  The  first  shows 
indeed  splendor  and  gratitude,  but  the  latter  only  a  truly 
noble  godlike  mind.  Be  such  toward  your  parents  as  you 
would  hope  your  children  should  be  toward  you.  Use 
exercise  rather  for  health  than  strength  or  beauty.  You 
will  best  attain  these  if  you  leave  it  off  before  nature  is 
fatigued. 

Be  not  austere  and  gloomy,  but  serene  and  grave.  By 
the  first  behavior  you  would  be  thought  proud,  but  by  the 
latter  will  be  esteemed  a  man  of  worth  and  credit.  Never 
imagine  you  can  conceal  a  bad  action ;  for,  though  you 
hide  it  from  others,  your  own  conscience  will  condemn  you. 
Be  good,  and  have  your  own  approbation.  Be  persuaded 
that  every  bad  action  will  at  last  take  air. 

It  is  the  duty  of  every  man  to  improve  his  knowledge, 
will,  and  understanding.     It  is  as  great  a  shame  to  hear 


264  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

rational,  instructive  discourse,  and  not  be  attentive  to  it, 
as  to  reject  with  scorn  a  valuable  gift.  Think  philosophy 
a  greater  treasure  than  immense  sums  of  gold ;  for  gold  is 
apt  to  take  wings  and  fly  away,  but  j)hilo8ophy  and  virtue 
are  inalienable  possessions.  Wisdom  is  the  only  immortal 
inheritance.  Dinsdale. 

[The  third  of  these  great  orators,  Isasus,  flourished  about  3G0  B.C. 
Of  his  private  life  we  know  little,  except  that  he  had  the  honor  of 
being  the  instructor  of  Demosthenes.  In  his  oratory  he  copies  the 
manner  of  Lysias,  having  the  same  pure  and  concise  diction,  though  a 
less  natural  style.  Bvit  if  he  has  less  eloquence  he  has  more  majesty, 
and  the  use  of  inteiTogative  sentences  gives  his  speeches  an  animation 
and  energy  which  assimilate  them  to  those  of  Demosthenes.  We  can 
trace  the  groundwork  of  the  vehement  power  of  the  latter  in  the  ora- 
tions of  his  instructor.  These  orations  were  all  delivered  in  lawsuits, 
and  hence  are  of  minor  interest.  We  select  a  passage  from  the  "  Speech 
on  the  Estate  of  DiciEogenes."] 

In  this  manner,  O  Bicseogenes,  hast  thou  unjustly  seized 
and  shamefully  wasted  the  estate  of  thy  cousin,  and,  having 
converted  it  into  money,  hast  the  assurance  to  complain  of 
poverty.  How  hast  thou  spent  that  money  ?  Not  for  the 
use  of  the  estate,  or  of  your  friends ;  since  it  is  apparent 
that  no  part  of  it  has  been  emjiloyed  for  those  purposes : 
not  in  breeding  fine  horses ;  for  thou  never  wast  in  pos- 
session of  a  horse  worth  more  than  three  minas :  not  in 
chariots ;  for,  with  so  many  farms  and  so  great  a  fortune, 
thou  never  hadst  a  single  carriage  even  drawn  by  mules  : 
nor  hast  thou  redeemed  any  citizen  from  captivity;  nor 
hast  thou  conveyed  to  the  citadel  those  statues  which 
Menexenus  had  ordered  to  be  made  for  the  price  of  three 
talents,  but  was  prevented  by  his  death  from  consecrating 
in  the  temple,  and  through  thy  avarice  they  lie  to  this  day 
in  the  shop  of  the  statuary ;  thus  hast  thou  presumed  to 
claim  an  estate  to  which  thou  hadst  no  color  of  right,  and 


Various]  THE   ORATORY  OF  ATHENS.  265 

hast  not  restored  to  the  gods  the  statues  which  were  truly 
their  own.  On  what  ground,  Dicaiogenes,  canst  thou  ask 
the  jury  to  give  a  sentence  in  thy  favor  ?  Is  it  because 
thou  hast  frequently  served  the  public  offices,  expended 
large  sums  of  money  to  make  the  city  more  respectable, 
and  greatly  benefited  the  state  by  contributing  bountifully 
towards  supporting  the  war  ?  Nothing  of  this  sort  can  be 
allea-ed  with  truth.  Is  it  because  thou  art  a  valiant  soldier? 
But  thou  never  once  couldst  be  persuaded  to  serve  in  so 
violent  and  so  formidable  a  war,  in  which  even  the  Olyn- 
thians  and  the  islanders  lose  their  lives  with  eagerness, 
since  they  fight  for  this  country ;  while  thou,  who  art  a 
citizen,  wouldst  never  take  arms  for  the  city. 

Perhaps  the  dignity  of  thy  ancestors,  who  slew  the 
tyrant,  emboldens  thee  to  triumph  over  us  :  as  for  them, 
indeed,  I  honor  and  applaud  them,  but  cannot  think  that 
a  spark  of  their  virtue  animates  thy  bosom ;  for  thou  hast 
preferred  the  plunder  of  our  inheritance  to  the  glory  of 
being  their  descendant,  and  wouldst  rather  be  called  the 
son  of  Dicffiogenes  than  of  Harmodius ;  not  regarding  the 
right  of  being  entertained  in  the  Prytaneum,  nor  setting 
any  value  on  the  precedence  and  immunities  which  the 
posterity  of  those  heroes  enjoy :  yet  it  was  not  for  noble 
birth  that  Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton  were  so  transcen- 
dently  honored,  but  for  their  valor  and  probity ;  of  which 
thou,  Dicseogenes,  hast  not  the  smallest  share. 

Sir  William  Jones. 

[The  three  orators  above  named  were  followed  by  a  considerable 
number  of  others,  who  had  studied  in  their  schools  and  to  a  greater  or 
less  extent  employed  their  methods.  We  have  elsewhere  made  selec- 
tions from  Demosthenes  and  ^schines.  Of  the  others  whose  names 
and  some  examples  of  whose  oratory  we  possess,  Hypereides,  from 
whom  we  now  select,  was  the  most  notable.  This  orator  stood  by 
Demosthenes  in  his  struggle  against  Macedon.  The  Lamian  war  was 
I.— M  23 


266  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

especially  his  work.  He  paid  for  it  with  his  life.  As  a  speaker  he  was 
noted  for  wit,  grace,  and  pathos,  was  an  adept  in  irony,  and  in  full  sym- 
pathy with  all  the  social  movements  of  his  time.  In  the  words  of  Jebb, 
he  "  was  the  Sheridan  of  Athens."  He  has  been  comijared  with  De- 
mosthenes, though  to  his  disadvantage.  We  select,  from  Jebb's  trans- 
lation, an  extract  from  his  funeral  oration  over  the  heroes  of  the 
Lamian  war,  322  B.C.  It  was  a  moment  of  fitful  promise  for  Greece, 
and  the  orator  was  inspired  by  unwarranted  hope.  But  in  the  same 
year  the  gloom  of  defeat  once  more  descended,  and  two  of  her  greatest 
orators,  Demosthenes  and  Hypereides,  fell  victims  to  the  tyranny  which 
they  had  so  daringly  opposed.  In  the  same  year,  so  fatal  to  Greece, 
died  her  great  philosopher,  Aristotle.] 

With  us,  and  with  all  the  living,  as  we  have  seen,  they 
shall  ever  have  renown ;  but  in  the  dark  under-world — 
suffer  us  to  ask — who  are  they  that  will  stretch  forth  a 
right  hand  to  the  captain  of  our  dead  ?  May  we  not  deem 
that  Leosthenes  will  be  greeted  with  welcome  and  with 
wonder  by  those  half-gods  who  bore  arms  against  Troy, — 
he  who  set  himself  to  deeds  germane  with  theirs,  but  in 
this  surpassed  them,  that  while  they,  aided  by  all  Hellas, 
took  one  town,  he,  supported  by  his  own  city  alone,  humbled 
the  power  that  ruled  Europe  and  Asia  ?  They  avenged  the 
wrong  offered  to  one  woman;  he  stayed  the  insults  that 
were  being  heaped  on  all  the  cities  of  Hellas, — he  and  those 
who  are  sharing  his  last  honors, — men  who,  coming  after 
the  heroes,  wrought  deeds  of  heroic  worth.  Ay,  and  there, 
I  deem,  will  be  Miltiades  and  Themistoeles,  and  those  others 
who  made  Hellas  free,  to  the  credit  of  their  city,  to  the 
glory  of  their  names, — whom  this  man  8urj)assed  in  courage 
and  in  counsel,  seeing  that  they  repelled  the  power  of  the 
barbarians  when  it  had  come  against  them,  but  he  forbade 
its  approach ;  they  saw  the  foemen  fighting  in  their  own 
country,  but  he  worsted  his  enemies  on  the  enemy's  soil. 
And  surely  they  who  gave  the  people  trusty  proof  of  this 
mutual  love,  Harmodius  and  Aristogeiton,  will  count  no 


Various]  THE   ORATORY  OF  ATHENS.  267 

friends  so  near  to  themselves,  or  so  faithful  to  you,  as 
Leosthenes  and  those  who  strove  beside  him,  nor  will  they 
so  consort  with  any  dwellers  in  the  place  of  the  dead. 
Well  may  it  be  so,  since  these  have  done  deeds  not  less  than 
theirs,  but,  if  it  may  be  said,  even  greater ;  for  they  put 
down  the  despots  of  their  own  city,  but  these  put  down  the 
despots  of  Hellas.  O  beautiful  and  wonderful  enterprise, 
O  glorious  and  magnificent  devotion,  O  soldiership  tran- 
scendent in  dangers,  which  these  offered  to  the  freedom  of 
Greece ! 

[The  closing  sentences,  addressed  to  the  kinsmen  of  the  dead,  are 
marked  by  a  sympathy  and  tenderness  of  Christian-like  depth.  They 
are  the  last  public  utterances  of  almost  the  last  orator  over  almost  the 
last  martyrs  of  Greek  freedom.] 

It  is  hard,  perhaps,  to  comfort  those  who  are  in  such  a 
sorrow ;  grief  is  not  laid  to  rest  by  speech  or  by  obser- 
vance; rather  is  it  for  the  nature  of  the  mourner,  and 
the  nearness  of  the  lost,  to  determine  the  boundaries  of 
anguish.  Still,  we  must  take  heart,  and  lighten  pain  as 
we  may,  and  remember  not  only  the  death  of  the  departed 
but  the  good  name  also  that  they  have  left  behind  them. 
We  owe  not  tears  to  their  fate,  but  rather  great  praises  to 
their  deeds.  If  they  came  not  to  old  age  .among  men, 
they  have  got  the  glory  that  never  grows  old,  and  have 
been  made  blessed  perfectly.  Those  among  them  who 
died  childless  shall  have  as  their  inheritors  the  immortal 
eulogies  of  G-reece;  and  those  of  them  who  have  left 
children  behind  them  have  bequeathed  a  trust  of  which 
their  country's  love  will  assume  the  guardianship.  More 
than  this,  if  to  die  is  to  be  as  though  we  had  never  been, 
then  these  have  passed  away  from  sickness  and  pain  and 
from  all  the  accidents  of  the  earthly  life ;  or,  if  there  is 
feeling  in  the  under-world,  and  if,  as  we  conjecture,  the 


268  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucrktius 

care  of  the  Divine  Power  is  over  it,  then  it  may  well  be 
that  they  who  rendered  aid  to  the  worship  of  the  gods  in 
the  hour  of  its  imminent  desolation  are  most  precious  to 
that  Power's  providence. 


THE  REALM  OF  DREAMS. 

LUCRETIUS. 

[Titus  Carus  Lucretius,  the  eldest-Lorn  of  the  noted  poets  of  Eome, 
has  left  no  record  of  his  life.  He  was  born  in  the  j-ear  95  B.C. ;  and  it 
is  said  that  he  died  by  his  own  hand,  in  his  forty-fourth  year,  through 
madness  caused  by  a  love-potion  administered  to  him,  and  composed  his 
works  in  his  sane  intervals.  But  all  this  is  very  doubtful.  His  famous 
work  "  On  the  Nature  of  Things"  is  an  epic  poem,  in  six  books,  in 
which  are  taught  the  philosophic  doctrines  of  the  Epicurean  school, 
and  various  details  of  physical  science.  The  work  occupies  a  high 
place  among  didactic  poems,  its  science  and  philosophy  being  unfolded 
with  the  greatest  clearness,  while  the  dryest  subjects  are  invested  with 
a  warm  life  and  interest.  His  poetry,  indeed,  is  full  of  original  genius, 
its  variety  being  one  of  its  greatest  merits.  To  the  grandeur  and 
sublimity  of  his  speculations  he  adds  the  widely  diiferent  qualities  of 
softness  and  tenderness,  while  his  yearning  desire  that  his  country  may 
be  relieved  from  the  horrors  of  war  is  marked  with  the  deepest  pathos. 
His  work  is  richly  embellished  with  episodes,  and  is  written  in  a 
majestic  verse  which  is  only  inferior  to  that  of  Virgil  in  melody,  and 
which  wonderfully  tempers  the  hard  nature  of  the  Latin  tongue.  We 
select,  from  Good's  translation,  the  following  interesting  description  of 
the  kingdom  of  dream-land.] 

Thus  slumber  issues ;  and  whate'er  the  thoughts 
That  chief  subdue  us,  the  concerns  that  claim 
Our  ceaseless  care,  or  what  the  mind  explores 
With  patient  praise,  in  dreams  we  still  pursue. 


Lucretius]  THE  REALM  OF  DREAMS.  269 

The  lawyer,  thus,  o'er  briefs  and  statutes  pores ; 
New  wars  the  soldier  wages ;  with  the  winds 
Strives  the  vain  mariner ;  while  we  the  laws 
Of  nature  scan  perpetual,  and  how  best, 
"When  traced,  to  paint  them  in  our  native  tongue. 

So  various  lores  besides,  and  arts  diverse. 
Haunt,  oft,  in  sleep  the  cheated  mind  of  man. 
He  who  from  eve  to  eve,  assiduous,  long 
Has  marked  the  public  stage,  though  now  no  more 
It  strikes  his  senses,  through  his  porous  frame 
Still  the  light  images  admits  that  float 
Countless  around  him.     Hence,  for  many  a  day, 
E'en  while  awake,  the  scene  before  his  eyes 
Seems  still  renewed;  the  light-decked  dancers  move 
Their  modulated  limbs  ;  the  living  lyre 
.    He  hears  entranced,  from  every  fluent  string 
Speaking  impassioned ;  he  the  throng  surveys, 
And  all  the  pageantry  the  drama  boasts. 

Of  such  vast  import  are  the  plans  pursued, 
The  thoughts  indulged,  the  customs  deep  impressed 
Of  man  not  merely,  but  of  brutes  as  well. 
For  the  nerved  steed,  as  on  the  glebe  he  lies. 
Oft  sweats  and  pants  laborious  in  his  sleep. 
As  though  amain  contending  for  the  palm. 

So,  too,  the  hound,  amid  his  soft  repose. 
Oft  starts  abrupt,  and  howls,  and  snuffs  the  breeze 
With  ceaseless  nostrils,  as  though  full  at  hand 
He  tracked  the  antlered  trembler.     And,  at  times, 
E'en  while  awake,  with  vigor  he  pursues 
Vain  semblances  of  deer,  as  though  themselves 
Started  before  hhn,  till  the  phantoms  void 
Vanish  at  length,  and  truth  regains  her  sway. 
E'en  the  soft  lapdog  his  inglorious  sleep 
Breaks  not  infrequent,  rousing  all  erect, 

I.  23* 


270  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucretius 

Urged  by  the  semblance  of  some  face  unknown. 

And  as  of  harsher  seeds  the  trains  are  formed 

Of  floating  phantoms,  with  augmented  force 

Strike  they  the  mind.     Hence  birds,  with  flight  abrupt, 

Oft  to  the  centre  of  the  sacred  groves 

At  midnight  hurry,  in  their  dreams  disturbed 

By  hideous  sight  of  hawks,  on  outsti'etched  wing, 

Prowling  aloft,  all  active  for  the  pounce. 

Then  what  vast  toils  engage  men  when  asleep ! 
How  pants  the  mind  beneath  superb  exploits ! 
Kings  strive  with  kings  in  combat,  or  at  large 
Contend,  surrender,  pour  the  cries  of  death ; 
While  some  fight  on,  though  wounded,  loading  still 
All  heaven  with  groans,  as  though  to  atoms  torn 
By  some  huge  lion  or  remorseless  pard. 
Some,  too,  aloud  their  machinations  tell. 
And  thus  in  sleep  full  oft  themselves  accuse. 
Some  on  their  death-bed  seem ;  and  some  to  leap 
Headlong  fi'om  precipices ;  by  the  fright 
Awoke,  of  reason  so  bereft,  the  mind 
Scarce  with  the  day  resumes  its  wonted  reign. 

[To  the  above  may  be  added,  from  Elton's  translation,  the  poet's 
conception  of  the  condition  of  primitive  man.] 

Then  hardier,  as  beseemed  the  race  of  earth. 

Since  the  hard  ground  had  ushered  them  to  birth  ; 

More  vast  their  solid  bones,  and  firm  within 

Were  strung  the  nerves,  that  branched  beneath  the  skin. 

No  change  of  skies  impaired  that  giant  mould, 

Proof  'gainst  the  heat,  and  braced  to  feel  the  cold. 

No  unknown  aliment  their  frames  diseased, 

No  plagues  infectious  on  their  bodies  seized  ; 

While  rolling  lustres  round  the  heavens  had  fled. 

Wild  as  the  beasts  their  wandering  lives  they  led. 


Lucretius]  PRIMITIVE  MANKIND.  Til 

No  swain,  robust,  had  turned  with  guiding  hand 

The  crooked  plough,  no  iron  delved  the  land ; 

None  then  to  set  the  tender  sapling  knew, 

Or  from  tall  trees  the  withered  branches  hew ; 

What  earth  spontaneous  gave,  and  sun  and  shower 

Matured,  sufficed  them  for  the  passing  hour ; 

'Midst  oaks,  whose  rustling  mast  bestrewed  the  ground, 

Nourished  they  lay,  their  feasts  with  acorns  crowned. 

Then  wintry  arbutes,  that  allure  the  sight, 

With  blushing  hue  of  ripened  scarlet  bright, 

Earth  poured  more  plenteous,  and  of  ampler  size  j 

For  the  new  world,  in  fresh  varieties. 

Blossomed  with  genial  fruits,  abundant  then 

To  sate  the  wants  of  miserable  men. 

Eivers  and  fountains,  with  their  gurgling  sound. 

Called  them  to  slake  their  thirst  in  crowds  around. 

As  now  upon  the  mountain-torrent's  brink, 

By  the  shrill  roar  allured,  the  beasts  impending  drink. 

With  nightly-wandering  step  they  sought  the  cells 

Where,  in  her  haunts,  the  fabled  wood-nymph  dwells ; 

Where  sliding  waters  stealing  from  the  cave 

Crept  o'er  the  humid  rocks  with  smoothly-spreading  wave ; 

The  humid  rocks,  that  drop  by  drop  distil 

Through  the  green  moss  the  slowly-trickling  rill ; 

Or  where  swift  springs,  in  gushes,  broke  away, 

And  laved  the  open  plains  in  bubbling  play. 

Nor  fire  to  them  its  uses  had  revealed. 
Nor  did  the  skins  of  beasts  a  vesture  yield. 
With  wondrous  force  of  feet  and  hands  endued. 
They  the  wild  race  of  woodland  beasts  pursued ; 
With  missile  stones  and  ponderous  clubs  opprest. 
Full  many  fell,  deep  lairs  concealed  the  rest ; 
And  when  the  chase  was  done,  in  night's  dark  shade, 
Like  bristly  boars  beneath  the  forest  laid, 


272  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucretius 

They  stretched  their  naked  limbs  upon  the  ground, 
With  broken  boughs  and  leaves  enveloped  round. 

[We  conclude  our  selections  from  Lucretius  with  the  following,  "  in 
praise  of  philosophy,"  from  Dryden's  translation.] 

'Tis  pleasant  safely  to  behold  from  shore 

The  rolling  ship,  and  hear  the  tempest  roar : 

Not  that  another's  pain  is  our  delight, 

But  pains  unfelt  produce  the  pleasing  sight. 

'Tis  pleasant  also  to  behold  from  far 

The  moving  legions  mingled  in  the  war : 

But  much  more  sweet  thy  laboring  steps  to  guide 

To  virtue's  heights,  with  wisdom  well  supplied, 

And  all  the  magazines  of  learning  fortified : 

From  thence  to  look  below  on  human  kind, 

Bewildered  in  the  maze  of  life,  and  blind. 

To  see  vain  fools  ambitiously  contend 

For  wit  and  power ;  their  last  endeavors  lend 

To  outshine  each  other,  waste  their  time  and  health 

In  search  of  honor  and  pursuit  of  wealth. 

O  wretched  man !  in  what  a  mist  of  life, 

Enclosed  with  dangers,  and  with  noisy  strife. 

He  spends  his  little  span,  and  overfeeds 

His  crammed  desires  with  more  than  nature  needs! 

For  nature  wisely  stints  our  appetite, 

And  craves  no  more  than  undisturbed  delight, 

Which  minds  unmixed  with  cares  and  fears  obtain ; 

A  soul  serene,  a  body  void  of  pain. 

So  little  this  corporeal  frame  requires, 

So  bounded  are  our  natural  desires. 

That,  wanting  all,  and  setting  pain  aside, 

With  bare  privation  sense  is  satisfied. 

If  golden  sconces  hang  not  on  the  walls. 

To  light  the  courtly  suppers  and  the  balls  ; 


Aristotle]    THE  CONDITIONS  OF  MENTALITV.  273 

If  the  proud  palace  shines  not  with  the  state 

Of  burnished  bowls  and  of  reflected  plate ; 

If  well-tuned  harps,  nor  the  more  pleasing  sound 

Of  voices,  from  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound ; 

Yet  on  the  grass,  beneath  a  j^oplar's  shade. 

By  the  cool  stream  our  careless  limbs  are  laid  ; 

With  cheaper  pleasures  innocently  blessed, 

When  the  warm  sj)ring  in  gaudy  flowers  is  dressed. 

Then,  since  our  bodies  are  not  eased  the  more 

By  birth,  or  power,  or  fortune's  wealthy  store, 

'Tis  plain,  these  useless  toys  of  every  kind 

As  little  can  relieve  the  laboring  mind  :  .  .  . 

Why  should  not  we  those  pageantries  desj)ise, 

Whose  worth  but  in  our  want  of  reason  lies  ? 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF  MENTALITY. 

ARISTOTLE. 

[Aristotle  was  born  384  B.C.,  at  Stagira,  a  Grecian  colonial  town  in 
Thrace.  He  came  from  a  family  of  physicians,  which  fact  probably  gave 
the  bent  to  his  early  studies,  though  while  still  young  he  placed  himself 
under  the  instruction  of  Plato,  and  remained  in  his  school  for  twenty 
years.  During  this  period  he  set  up  a  school  of  rhetoric  in  opposition 
to  the  celebrated  orator  Isocrates,  whose  teachings  he  attacked  with 
severity.  In  342  B.C.  he  was  invited  by  Philip  of  Macedon  to  become 
the  tutor  of  his  son  Alexander,  then  thirteen  years  of  age.  This  posi- 
tion he  held,  with  great  honor  and  respect,  till  334  B.C.,  the  period  of 
Alexander's  expedition  into  Asia.  After  this  event  Aristotle  returned 
to  Athens,  and  opened  a  school  called  the  Lyceum,  from  whose  shady 
walks  his  sect  received  the  name  of  the  Peripatetic.  His  principal 
writings  were  probably  composed  during  this  period.  Twelve  years 
afterwards  the  anti-Macedonian  party  gained  ascendency  at  Athens, 
and  one  of  its  first  acts  was  to  accuse  Aristotle  of  impiety  to  the  gods. 
I. — s 


274  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Aristotle 

rearing  the  fate  of  Socrates,  he  fled  to  Chalcis  in  the  early  part  of  the 
year  322  n.c.  He  died  in  this  town  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year, 
at  the  age  of  sixty-two. 

Aristotle  left  a  vast  number  of  writings,  of  which  perhaps  a  fourth, 
but  unquestionably  the  most  valuable  portion,  has  come  down  to  us. 
These  are,  however,  largely  fragmentary  in  form,  and  so  confused  and 
contradictory  that  it  is  possible  we  have  only  his  oral  lectures,  as  written 
down  by  his  pupils.  They  cover  a  wide  range  of  subjects,  including 
rhetoric,  poetry,  politics,  ethics,  physics,  mathematics,  logic,  and  meta- 
physics. The  genius  of  Aristotle  was  as  wide  as  nature  itself.  He 
studied  all  things,  and  added  vastly,  through  his  own  researches,  to  the 
previous  knowledge  of  the  Greeks.  His  philosophic  system  diifers 
widely  from  that  of  Plato.  He  keenly  combats  the  theory  of  ideas, 
and  holds  that  knowledge  of  the  facts  of  nature  forms  the  only  true 
basis  of  reasoning.  His  mind  was,  indeed,  essentially  scientific  in 
tendenc}'^,  and  to  him  we  are  indebted  for  the  first  scientific  observa- 
tions of  extended  value.  His  work  on  animals  embraces  a  large  store  of 
personal  observations,  and  contains  the  groundwork  of  the  modern 
system  of  zoological  classification.  In  mental  science  his  writings  are 
of  great  value.  His  work  on  logic,  indeed,  originated  that  science, 
and  dealt  with  it  so  exhaustively  that  little  has  been  added  to  it  since. 
The  science  of  physiology  also  originated  with  him,  and  on  meta- 
physics, ethics,  rhetoric,  politics,  etc.,  he  has  left  highly  valuable 
treatises. 

In  style  he  differs  from  his  predecessors  as  essentially  as  in  matter. 
The  ardent  imagination  of  the  Greeks  is  replaced  in  him  by  a  prosaic 
mode  of  thought,  while  his  rigid  and  unadorned  reasoning  is  strongly 
in  contrast  with  the  poetic  dress  of  the  Platonic  speculations.  The 
Hellenic  form  to  which  philosophy  was  confined  by  his  predecessors  he 
replaces  with  a  more  universal  dialect  of  thought.  His  concise  and 
peculiar  manner  renders  his  works  somewhat  difficult  to  read  and 
comprehend,  as  will  appear  in  the  following  extract,  which  we  select 
almost  at  random  from  his  "  Metaphysics."  His  argument  is  so  con- 
densed as  to  render  it  in  some  places  hardly  possible  to  follow.  The 
translation  is  that  of  McMahon.] 

There  are  points,  however,  respecting  Mind  which  in- 
volve certain  subjects  of  doubt ;  for  it  seems,  certainly,  to 
constitute  the  most  divine  existence  amongst  phenomena  : 


Aristotle]    THE  CONDITIONS  OF  MENTALITY.  275 

but  after  what  manner  it  is  disposed,  so  as  that  it  should 
be  a  thing  of  this  sort,  is  attended  with  certain  diificulties. 
For  whether  it  be  void  of  the  faculty  of  understanding 
anything,  but  is  like  one  who  is  sleeping,  what,  may  I  ask, 
would  there  be  reverential  in  such  a  condition  of  being  ? 
Or,  supposing  that  it  possesses  the  faculty  of  understanding, 
and  yet  that  there  be  something  which  is  dominant  over 
this  faculty, — for  in  this  case  that  which  is  its  substance 
is  not  intelligence,  but  capacity, — should  the  foregoing  be 
true,  we  could  not  say  that  Mind  would  be  the  most  excel- 
lent substance ;  for  it  is  through  the  faculty  of  the  under- 
standing that  that  which  is  entitled  to  reverence  is  in- 
herent  in  the  mind. 

But,  further,  whether  understanding  constitute  its  sub- 
stance, or  whether  perception  does,  what,  may  I  ask,  does 
it  understand  ?  for  either  it  is  itself  that  it  understands,  or 
something  else.  And  supposing  that  it  understands  some- 
thing else,  either  it  will  invariably  be  the  same,  or  some- 
thing different ;  whether,  then,  is  there  any  diiference,  or 
no  difference  at  all,  between  its  understanding  what  is  fair, 
and  understanding  what  is  casual  ?  or,  also,  would  it  be  an 
absurd  idea  to  imagine  that  it  exercises  the  faculty  of  cogi- 
tation in  regard  of  certain  things?  It  is  evident,  there- 
fore, that  that  which  understands  is  most  divine,  and  most 
entitled  to  reverence,  and  that  it  undergoes  no  change ;  for 
change  would  presuppose  a  transition  into  something  that 
is  worse ;  and  a  thing  of  this  sort  would,  in  the  present  in- 
stance, amount  to  a  certain  motion.  In  the  first  place,  then, 
of  course,  supposing  that  the  mind  were  not  percej)tion  or 
intelligence,  but  capacity,  it  is  reasonable  to  infer  that  con- 
tinuity of  perception  would  be  a  laborious  operation  for 
the  mind ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  it  is  evident  that  there 
would  be  in  existence  something  else  that  is  more  entitled 
to  reverence  than  Mind, — namely,  that  which  is  an  object 


276  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Aristotle 

of  perception  to  the  mind ;  for  both  the  faculty  of  under- 
standing and  actual  perception  will  be  present  to  the  mind 
even  in  its  understanding  that  which  is  most  inferior. 

So  that  we  must  avoid  this  consequence ;  for  also  would 
it  be  better  not  to  see  some  things  than  to  see  them  :  hence, 
perception  Avould  not  constitute  that  which  is  most  excel- 
lent. Accordingly  may  we  assume  that  Mind  is  cognizant 
of  its  own  operations,  if  it  really  is  that  which  is  most 
superior,  and  if  perception  amounts  to  the  perception  of  a 
perception. 

Now,  scientific  knowledge  invariably  ajipears,  as  well  as 
perception  by  sense  and  opinion  and  the  faculty  of  thought, 
to  be  conversant  about  something  different  from  itself,  and 
to  be  conversant  about  itself  only  in  a  secondary  or  subor- 
dinate sense.  Further,  if  we  sujjpose  that  understanding 
is  different  from  being  an  object  of  perception  to  the  un- 
derstanding, according  to  which  of  these  will  subsistence 
in  an  excellent  way  be  inherent  in  Mind  ?  for  neither  is  it 
the  same  thing  the  being  inherent  in  an  act  of  perception 
by  the  understanding,  and  in  an  object  of  perception  to 
the  understanding:  or  shall  we  say  that  in  the  case  of 
some  things  the  science  constitutes  itself  that  Avhich  is  the 
object  of  the  science  ?  In  the  case,  I  admit,  of  the  pro- 
ductive sciences,  the  substance  and  the  essence  do  not  in- 
volve a  connection  with  matter;  whereas  in  the  case  of 
the  speculative  sciences  the  definition  or  formal  principle 
is  the  object  of  the  science,  as  well  as  is  the  perception 
exercised  by  the  mind.  Inasmuch,  then,  as  the  object  of 
the  understanding  is  not  a  different  thing  from  the  under- 
standing itself,  in  the  ease  of  as  many  things  as  do  not 
involve  a  connection  with  matter  they  will  be  the  same 
thing ;  and  the  act  of  perception  by  the  mind  will  be  iden- 
tical with  the  object  of  perception. 

Moreover,  therefore,  a  doubt  remains  whether  an  object 


Aristotle]     VIRTUE  THE  SOURCE  OF  HAPPINESS.      277 

of  perception  is  a  composite  nature  or  not ;  for,  if  this  be 
the  case,  the  object  of  perception,  as  a  compound,  would 
undergo  a  change  in  the  parts  of  the  entire ;  or  shall  we 
say  that  everything  is  indivisible  which  does  not  involve  a 
connection  with  matter, — as  the  human  mind  ?  Or  are  we 
to  take  for  granted  that  the  perception  of  compound  ob- 
jects involves  a  connection  with  matter  during  a  certain 
portion  of  duration  ?  for  an  excellent  condition  of  subsist- 
ence does  not  always  reside  in  this  particular  thing  or  in 
that ;  but  that  which  is  most  excellent  subsists  in  a  thing, 
viewed  as  a  certain  entirety,  being  something  different 
from  itself  And,  therefore,  the  first  and  actual  percep- 
tion by  mind  of  Mind  itself  doth  subsist  in  this  way 
throughout  all  eternity. 

[To  the  foregoing  we  add  a  few  brief  selections,  of  much  less  abstruse 
character,  from  the  other  works  of  Aristotle.] 

VIRTUE   THE   TRUE   SOURCE   OF   HAPPINESS. 

Eightly  to  investigate  the  best  form  of  a  government,  it 
is  necessary  previously  to  ascertain  what  is  the  best  kind 
of  life ;  since  the  latter  of  these  remaining  undetermined, 
the  former  also  must  continue  to  be  unknown.  Those  men 
(barring  improbable  accidents)  are  the  happiest  who  live 
under  the  best  government  of  which  their  circumstances 
admit.  We  must  begin,  therefore,  by  examining  what 
kind  of  life  is  most  eligible  for  mankind  in  general ;  and, 
secondly,  whether  the  well-being  of  individuals  and  of 
communities  results  from  the  same  causes  and  is  to  be 
estimated  by  the  same  standard.  The  former  of  these 
topics  has  been  sufiioiently  discussed  in  our  popular  dis- 
courses ;  where  we  made  use  of  a  division  that  apj^ears  to 
be  indisputably  accurate, — namely,  that  the  happiness  of 
men  depends  on  their  external  prosjDority,  on  the  frame 
and  habit  of  their  bodies,  on  the  state  and  condition  of 
I.  24 


278  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Aristotle 

their  minds.  He  surely  would  be  unworthy  to  be  called 
happy  who  possessed  not  the  snaallest  particle  of  forti- 
tude, of  temperance,  of  justice,  or  of  prudence;  since  the 
wretch  totally  destitute  of  these  virtues  respectively  would 
be  frightened  at  the  buzzing  of  a  fly,  would  wallow  unre- 
strained in  the  most  beastly  sensuality,  would  not  hesitate, 
for  the  smallest  gain,  to  destroy  his  best  benefactor,  and  in 
point  of  intellectual  operations  would  betray  either  childish 
imbecility  or  frantic  absurdity.  That  a  certain  portion  of 
virtue  is  essential  to  the  well-being  of  a  human  creature 
cannot,  therefore,  be  a  matter  of  dispute  ;  but  to  what  this 
portion  ought  to  amount,  occasions  much  diversity  of 
opinion.  In  general,  mankind  are  satisfied  with  their  re- 
spective shares  of  virtue,  how  scanty  soever  they  may  be, 
but  extremely  dissatisfied  with  their  shares  of  ail  other 
advantages ;  for  their  measure  of  virtue,  however  incon- 
siderable it  may  appear  to  others,  rarely  appearing  deficient 
to  themselves,  they  seek  not  to  augment  it;  while  their 
estates  and  money,  their  force  and  their  power,  cannot 
possibly,  in  their  own  opinion,  be  too  widely  enlarged  or 
too  highly  accumulated.  But  we  say  to  them  that  such 
vulgar  illusions  even  vulgar  observation  may  suffice  to 
disj^el.  The  external  advantages  of  j^ower  and  fortune  are 
acquired  and  maintained  by  virtue,  not  virtue  by  them ; 
and  whether  we  consider  the  virtuous  energies  themselves, 
or  the  fruits  which  they  unceasingly  produce,  the  sovereign 
good  of  life  must  evidently  be  found  in  moral  and  intel- 
lectual excellence,  moderately  supplied  with  external  ac- 
commodations, rather  than  in  the  greatest  accumulation 
of  external  advantages,  unimproved  and  unadorned  by 
virtue.  External  prosperity  is  indeed  instrumental  in  pro- 
ducing happiness,  and  therefore,  like  every  other  instru- 
ment, must  have  its  assigned  limits,  beyond  which  it  is 
inconvenient  or  hurtful.    But  to  mental  excellence  no  limit 


Aristotle]  DISPOSITION  OF  THE  RICH.  279 

can  be  assigned :  the  farther  it  extends,  the  more  useful  it 
becomes,  if  the  epithet  of  useful  needs  ever  to  be  super- 
added to  that  of  honorable.  Besides  this,  the  relative  im- 
portance of  quahties  is  best  estimated  by  that  of  their 
respective  subjects.  But  the  mind,  both  in  itself  and  in 
reference  to  man,  is  far  better  than  the  body,  or  than 
property.  The  excellencies  of  the  mind,  therefore,  ai-e  in 
the  same  proportion  to  be  preferred  to  the  highest  perfec- 
tion of  the  body  and  the  best  disposition  of  external  cir- 
cumstances. The  last  two  are  of  a  far  inferior  and  merely 
a  subservient  nature;  since  no  man  of  sense  covets  or 
pursues  them  but  for  the  sake  of  the  mind,  with  a  view  to 
promote  its  genuine  improvement  and  to  heighten  its  native 
joys.  Let  this  great  truth,  then,  be  acknowledged,  a  truth 
evinced  by  the  Deity  himself,  who  is  happy,  not  from  any 
external  cause,  but  thi^ough  the  inherent  attributes  of  his 
divine  nature. 

THE    DISPOSITION   OF   THE   RICH. 

Any  one  without  any  great  penetration  may  distinguish 
the  dispositions  consequent  on  wealth;  for  its  possessors 
are  insolent  and  overbearing,  from  being  tainted  in  a 
certain  way  by  the  getting  of  their  wealth.  Por  they  are 
affected  as  though  they  possessed  every  good ;  since  wealth 
is  a  sort  of  standard  of  the  worth  of  other  things ;  whence 
everything  seems  to  be  purchasable  by  it.  And  they  are 
affectedly  delicate  and  purse-proud ;  they  are  thus  deli- 
cate on  account  of  their  luxurious  lives  and  the  display 
they  make  of  their  prosperity.  They  are  purse-proud, 
and  violate  the  rules  of  good  breeding,  from  the  circum- 
stance that  every  one  is  wont  to  dwell  upon  that  which  is 
beloved  and  admired  by  him,  and  because  they  think  that 
others  are  emulous  of  that  of  which  they  are  themselves. 
But  at  the  same  time  they  are  thus  affected  reasonably 


280  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Martial 

enough ;  for  many  are  they  who  need  the  aid  of  men  of 
property.  Whence,  too,  that  remark  of  Simonides  ad- 
dressed to  the  wife  of  Hiero  respecting  the  wealthy 
and  the  wise ;  for  when  she  asked  him  "  whether  it  were 
better  to  have  been  born  wealthy  or  wise,"  he  replied, 
"  wealthy ;  for,"  he  said,  "  he  used  to  see  the  wise  hanging 
on  at  the  doors  of  the  wealthy."  And  it  is  a  characteris- 
tic of  the  rich  that  they  esteem  themselves  worthy  of 
being  in  office ;  for  they  consider  themselves  possessed  of 
that  on  account  of  which  they  are  entitled  to  be  in  office. 
And,  in  a  word,  the  disposition  of  the  rich  is  that  of  a  fool 
amid  prosperity. 

However,  the  disj)Ositions  of  those  who  are  but  lately 
rich,  and  of  those  who  have  been  so  fi'om  old,  are  different ; 
inasmuch  as  those  who  have  recently  become  rich  have 
all  these  faults  in  a  greater  and  a  worse  degree ;  for  the 
having  recently  become  rich  is  as  it  were  an  inexpertness 
in  wealth. 


A  GROUP  OF  EPIGRAMS. 

MARTIAL. 

[Marcus  Valerius  Martialis,  the  celebrated  Roman  epigrammatist, 
was  a  native  of  Spain,  born  in  the  year  43  a.d.,  at  Bilbilis,  a  town 
whose  very  site  is  now  unknown.  He  came  while  young  to  Rome, 
where  he  soon  grew  famous  as  a  wit  and  poet,  became  a  favorite  with 
the  emperors  Titus  and  Domitian,  and  was  made  court  poet  in  the 
reign  of  the  latter,  which  distinction  he  paid  for  by  the  most  servile 
adulation.  He  returned  to  Bilbilis  after  thirty-five  years'  residence  in 
Rome,  and  married  a  rich  Spanish  lady,  with  whom  he  lived  in  afflu- 
ence till  his  death,  about  104  a.d. 

Martial's  epigrams,  which  were  highly  popular  throughout  the 
Roman  empire,  are  comprised  in  fourteen  books,  yet  extant.  He  had 
a  wonderful  inventiveness  and  facility  in  this  species  of  composition, 
though  it  was  sullied  with  a  grossness  which  renders  many  of  his 


Martial]  A   GROUP  OF  EPIGRAMS.  281 

poems  unreadable.  His  verses  are  not  all  satirical  in  character.  Many 
of  them  are  full  of  a  Grecian  sweetness  and  elegance,  with  occasional 
pleasing  descriptions  of  nature.  He  combines  a  ready  and  varied  wit, 
poetical  imagination,  and  happy  and  graceful  expression,  with  a  strong 
sensuality.  Martial  has  never  found  an  adequate  translator, — his  poems, 
indeed,  being  of  a  kind  very  diflSicult  to  convert,  with  their  full  power 
and  point,  into  another  language.  The  great  mass  of  them  are  best 
untranslated.  We  select,  from  various  translators,  a  number  of  these 
epigrammatic  poems.] 

TO   CALLISTRATUS. 

Yes,  I  am  poor,  Callistratus,  I  own, 

And  so  was  ever ;  yet  not  quite  unknown  ; 

Graced  with  a  knight's  degree ;  nor  this  alone, 

But  through  the  world  my  verse  is  frequent  sung, 

And  "  that  is  he !"  sounds  buzzed  from  every  tongue; 

And  what  to  few,  when  dust,  the  Fates  assign, 

In  bloom  and  freshness  of  my  days  is  mine. 

Thy  ceilings  on  a  hundred  columns  rest ; 

Wealth,  as  of  upstart  freedmen,  bursts  thy  chest ; 

Nile  flows  in  fatness  o'er  thy  ample  fields ; 

CisaliDine  Gaul  thy  silky  fleeces  yields. 

Lo !  such  thou  art,  and  such  am  I :  like  me, 

Callistratus,  thou  canst  not  hope  to  be  ; 

A  hundred  of  the  crowd  resemble  thee. 

Elton. 
PEOCRASTINATION. 

To-morrow  you  will  live,  you  always  cry: 
In  what  far  country  does  this  morrow  lie, 
That  'tis  BO  mighty  long  ere  it  arrive  ? 
Beyond  the  Indies  does  this  morrow  live  ? 
'Tis  so  far-fetched,  this  morrow,  that  I  fear 
'Twill  be  both  very  old  and  very  dear. 
To-morrow  I  will  live,  the  fool  does  say ; 
To-day's  itself  too  late :  the  wise  lived  yesterday. 

Cowley. 
I.  24* 


282  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Martial 

TO   ATTALUS. 

Yes,  you're  a  pretty  preacher,  sir,  we  know  it, 
Write  pretty  novels,  are  a  pretty  poet, 
A  pretty  critic,  and  tell  fortunes  too ; 
Then,  who  writes  farce  or  epigrams  like  you  ? 
At  every  ball  how  prettily  you  nick  it ! 
You  fiddle,  sing,  play  prettily  at  cricket. 
Yet,  after  all,  in  nothing  you  excel, — 
Do  all  things  prettily,  but  nothing  well. 
What  shall  I  call  you  ?     Say  the  best  I  can, 
You  are,  my  friend,  a  very  busy  man. 

Graves. 

TO    CHLOE. 

I  could  resign  that  eye  of  blue, 

Howe'er  its  splendor  used  to  thrill  me  j 

And  ev'n  that  cheek  of  roseate  hue, — 
To  lose  it,  Chloe,  scarce  would  kill  me. 

That  snowy  neck  I  ne'er  should  miss. 
However  much  I've  raved  about  it ; 

And,  sweetly  as  that  lip  can  kiss, 
I  think  I  could  exist  without  it. 

In  short,  so  well  I've  learned  to  fast. 

That  sooth,  my  love,  I  know  not  whether 

I  might  not  bring  myself  at  last 
To  do  without  you  altogether. 

Moore. 

TO   AULUS: — CRITICS. 

The  readers  and  the  hearers  like  my  books, 
And  yet  some  writers  cannot  them  digest : 
But  what  care  I  ?  for  when  I  make  a  feast 

1  would  my  guests  should  praise  it, — not  the  cooks. 

Addison. 


Martial]  A    GROUP  OF  EPIGRAMS.  283 

TO    FABULLUS  : — A   BAD    SUPPER. 

Faith,  your  essence  was  excelling, 
But  you  gave  us  nought  to  eat : 

Nothing  tasting,  sweetly  smelling, 
__,^  Is,  Fabullus,  scarce  a  treat. 

Let  me  see  a  fowl  unjointed 

When  your  table  next  is  spread : 

Who  not  feeds,  but  is  anointed. 


Lives  like  nothing  but  the  dead. 


G.  Lamb. 


TO    MARO  : — THE    HEIR   EXPECTANT. 

You  told  me,  Maro,  whilst  you  live 
You'd  not  a  single  penny  give, 
Bvit  that  whene'er  you  chance  to  die 
You'd  leave  a  handsome  legacy  : 
You  must  be  mad  beyond  redress 
If  my  next  wish  you  cannot  guess. 

Motto  of  19Sth  Rambler. 

A    CONTRADICTORY   CHARACTER. 

In  all  thy  humors,  whether  grave  or  mellow, 
Thou'rt  such  a  touchy,  testy,  pleasant  fellow. 
Hast  so  much  wit,  and  mirth,  and  spleen  about  thee, 
There  is  no  living  with  thee,  or  without  thee. 

Addison. 

THE   TRULY    GREAT. 

Milo,  forbear  to  call  him  blest 

That  only  boasts  a  large  estate. 
Should  all  the  treasures  of  the  East 

Meet,  and  conspire  to  make  him  great. 
Let  a  broad  stream  with  golden  sands 

Through  all  his  meadows  roll. 

He's  but  a  wretch,  with  all  his  lands, 

That  wears  a  narrow  soul. 

Dr.  Watts. 


284  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Martial 

ON   THE   GIRL   EROTION. 

The  girl  that  was  to  ear  and  sight 

More  soft  of  tone,  of  skin  more  white, 

Than  plumaged  swans,  that  yield  in  death 

The  sweetest  murmur  of  their  breath  ; 

Smooth  as  Galesus'  soft-fleeced  flocks, 

Dainty  as  shells  on  Lucrine  rocks, 

As  red  sea-pearls,  bright  ivory's  glow, 

Unsullied  lilies,  virgin  snow  ; 

Whose  locks  were  tipped  with  ruddy  gold, 

Like  wool  that  clothes  the  Beetle  fold. 

Like  braided  hair  of  girls  of  Rhine, 

As  tawny  field-mouse  sleek  and  fine ; 

Whose  vermeil  mouth  breathed  Psestum's  rose. 

Or  balm  fresh  honey-combs  disclose, 

Or  amber  yielding  odor  sweet 

From  the  chafing  hands'  soft  heat ; 

By  whom  the  peacock  was  not  fair. 

Nor  squirrels  pets,  nor  phoenix  rare, — 

Erotion  ci-umbles  in  her  urn. 

Warm  from  the  pile  her  ashes  burn ; 

Ere  yet  had  closed  her  sixteenth  year 

The  Fates  accui'sed  have  sj^read  her  bier, 

And  with  her  all  I  doted  on. 

My  loves,  my  joys,  my  sports,  are  gone. 

Yet  Psetns,  who,  like  me  distrest. 

Is  fain  to  beat  his  mourning  breast 

And  tear  his  hair  beside  a  grave. 

Asks,  "  Blush  you  not  to  mourn  a  slave  ? 

I  mourn  a  high,  rich,  noble  wife, 

And  yet  I  bear  my  lot  of  life !" 

Thy  fortitude  exceeds  all  bounds : 

Thou  hast  two  hundred  thousand  pounds  ; 


Martial]  A   GROUP  OF  EPIGRAMS.  285 

Thou  bcarest,  'tis  true,  thy  lot  of  life, 
Thou  bearest  the  jointure  of  thy  wife. 

Elton. 

[We  now  present  some  examples  of  Martial's  more  amiable  manner. 
Here  is  a  charming  little  tribute  to  another  "girl  Erotion."] 

EPITAPH   ON    EROTION. 

Underneath  this  greedy  stone 

Lies  little  sweet  Erotion, 

Whom  the  Fates,  with  hearts  as  cold, 

Nipped  away  at  six  years  old. 

Thou,  whoever  thou  mayst  be. 

That  hast  this  small  field  after  me. 

Let  the  yearly  rites  be  paid 

To  her  little  slender  shade  ; 

So  shall  no  disease  or  jar 

Hurt  thy  house,  or  chill  thy  Lar, 

But  this  tomb  be  here  alone 

The  only  melancholy  stone. 

Leigh  Hunt. 

TO   JULIUS    MARTIALIS. 

What  makes  the  happiest  life  below, 
A  few  plain  rules,  my  friend,  will  show. 
A  good  estate,  not  earned  with  toil, 

But  left  by  will,  or  given  by  fate  ; 
A  land  of  no  ungrateful  soil ; 

A  constant  fire  within  your  grate  ; 
No  law ;  few  cares ;  a  quiet  mind  ; 

Strength  unimpaired;  a  healthful  frame; 
Wisdom  with  innocence  combined ; 

Friends  equal  both  in  years  and  fame ; 

Your  living  easy,  and  your  board 
With  food,  but  not  with  luxury,  stored  ; 


286  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [LivY 

A  bed,  though  chaste,  not  solitary ; 

Sound  sleep,  to  shorten  night's  dull  reign ; 
Wish  nothing  that  is  yours  to  vary ; 

Think  all  enjoyments  that  remain ; 
And  for  the  inevitable  hour, 
Nor  hope  it  nigh,  nor  dread  its  power. 

Meriyale. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  VIRGINIUS. 

LIVY. 

[In  the  yeai"  59  B.C.,  at  Patavium,  the  modern  Padua,  was  born 
Titus  Livius  Patavinus,  usually  called  Livy,  the  most  famous  of 
Roman  historians.  Little  is  known  of  his  life,  except  that  he  enjoyed 
the  favor  of  the  emperor  Augustus,  despite  his  outspoken  admiration 
of  the  institutions  of  republican  Eome.  His  great  work  was  not 
begun  till  he  had  reached  middle  age,  but,  as  he  lived  till  his  seventy- 
seventh  year,  he  had  ample  time  to  complete  it.  His  fame  spread  so 
rapidly  that  we  are  told  of  a  person  who  made  the  long  journey  from 
Cadiz  to  Eome  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  see  him.  His  celebrated 
work  is  a  history  of  Rome,  which  he  modestly  entitles  "Annals,"  ex- 
tending from  the  origin  of  the  city  to  the  death  of  Drusus,  in  the  year 
9  B.C.  It  originally  comprised  one  hundred  and  forty-two  books,  but 
of  these  only  thirty  now  exist  complete,  with  the  greater  part  of  five 
more. 

Livy  cannot  be  praised  for  the  critical  accuracy  of  his  work,  but  as 
a  narrator,  an  historical  story-teller,  he  is  unrivalled,  either  in  ancient 
or  in  modern  times.  In  this  respect  he  was  a  man  of  pro-eminent 
genius,  and  possessed  of  a  fresh,  lively,  and  fascinating  style,  whose 
charm  no  reader  can  escape.  There  is  also  something  in  a  high  degree 
winning  and  engaging  about  what  may  be  called  the  moral  atmosphere 
of  Livy's  history,  which  shows  the  historian  to  have  been  a  man  of 
the  kindliest  sympathies.  A  lost  battle  is  misery  to  him.  He  trembles 
at  the  thought  of  relating  it.     In  the  words  of  Quintiliau,  "  he  is 


Livy]  the  daughter  OF  VIRGINIUS.  287 

especially  the   historian  of  the   affections,  particularly  of  the  softer 
sensibilities." 

From  among  the  many  interesting  naiTatives  told  by  him  we  select 
that  which  is  perhaps  the  most  dramatically  tragic  of  them  all,  the 
well-known  story  of  Virginia  and  her  noble-minded  father.  The 
decemvirs  were  a  body  of  ten  patricians  who  had  been  appointed  to 
codify  the  laws,  and  had  illegally  seized  on  the  government  of  the 
city.  Their  power  came  to  an  end  through  the  following  act  of 
Appius  Claudius,  their  leading  spirit.  The  selection  we  give  is  from 
the  literal  translation  of  Spillan.] 

Another  atrocious  deed  follows  in  the  city,  originating 
in  lust,  attended  with  results  not  less  tragical  than  that 
deed  which  drove  the  Tarquins  from  the  city  and  the 
throne  through  the  injured  chastity  and  violent  death  of 
Lucretia  ;  so  that  the  decemvirs  not  only  had  the  same  end 
as  the  kings  had,  but  the  same  cause  also  of  losing  their 
power.  Appius  Claudius  was  seized  with  a  criminal  pas- 
sion for  violating  the  person  of  a  young  woman  of  plebeian 
condition.  Lucius  Yirginius,  the  girl's  father,  held  an 
honorable  rank  among  the  centurions  at  Algidum,  a  man 
of  exemplary  good  conduct  both  at  home  and  in  the  service. 
His  wife  had  been  educated  in  a  similar  manner,  as  also 
were  their  children.  He  had  betrothed  his  daughter  to 
Lucius  Icilius,  who  had  been  a  tribune,  a  man  of  spirit  and 
of  approved  zeal  in  the  interest  of  the  people.  This  young 
woman,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  distinguished  for  beauty, 
Appius,  burning  with  desire,  attempted  to  seduce  by  bribes 
and  promises ;  and  when  he  perceived  that  all  the  avenues 
(to  the  possession  of  her)  were  barred  by  modesty,  he  turned 
his  thoughts  to  cruel  and  tyrannical  violence. 

He  instructed  a  dependant  of  his,  Marcus  Claudius,  to 
claim  the  girl  as  his  slave,  and  not  to  yield  to  those  who 
might  demand  her  interim  retention  of  liberty ;  consider- 
ing that,  because  the  girl's  father  was  absent,  there  was 
an  opportunity  for  committing  the  injury.     The  tool  of  the 


288  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Livy 

decemvir's  lust  laid  hands  on  the  girl  as  she  was  coming 
into  the  Forum  (for  there  in  the  sheds  the  literary  schools 
were  held) ;  calling  her  "  the  daughter  of  his  slave,  and  a. 
slave  herself,"  he  commanded  her  to  follow  him ;  that  he 
would  force  her  away  if  she  demurred.  The  girl  being 
stupefied  with  terror,  a  crowd  collects  at  the  cries  of  the 
girl's  nurse,  who  besought  the  protection  of  the  citizens. 
The  popular  names  of  her  father,  Virginius,  and  of  her 
spouse,  Icilius,  are  in  the  mouths  of  every  one.  Their 
regard  for  them  gains  over  their  acquaintances,  while  the 
heinousness  of  the  proceeding  gains  over  the  crowd.  She 
was  now  safe  from  violence,  when  the  claimant  says,  "  that 
there  was  no  occasion  for  raising  a  mob  ;  that  he  was  pro- 
ceeding by  law,  not  by  force."  He  cites  the  girl  into  court. 
Those  who  stood  by  her  advising  her  to  follow  him,  they 
now  reached  the  tribunal  of  Apj)ius.  The  claimant  re- 
hearses the  farce  well  known  to  the  judge,  as  being  the 
author  of  the  plot,  "  that  a  girl  born  in  his  house,  and 
clandestinely  transferred  from  thence  to  the  house  of 
"Virginius,  had  been  fathered  on  the  latter.  That  he  stated 
a  thing  ascertained  by  certain  evidence,  and  would  prove 
it  to  the  satisfaction  even  of  Virginius  himself,  whom  the 
principal  portion  of  that  loss  would  concern.  That  it  was 
but  just  in  the  interim  the  girl  should  accompany  her 
master."  The  advocates  for  Virginia,  after  they  had  urged 
that  Virginius  was  absent  on  business  of  the  state,  that  he 
would  be  here  in  two  days  if  word  were  sent  to  him,  that 
it  was  unfair  that  in  his  absence  he  should  run  any  risk 
regarding  his  children,  demand  that  he  adjourn  the  whole 
matter  till  the  arrival  of  the  father ;  that  he  should  allow 
the  claim  for  her  interim  liberty  according  to  the  law 
passed  by  himself,  and  not  allow  a  maiden  of  ripe  age  to 
encounter  the  risk  of  her  reputation  before  that  of  her 
liberty. 


LiVT]  THE  DAUGHTER   OF   VIRGINIUS.  289 

[In  answer  to  this  appeal  Appiiis  decided  that  she  should  bo  left  in 
the  hands  of  the  claimant.] 

When  many  rather  murmured  against  the  injustice  of 
this  decision  than  any  one  individual  ventured  to  protest 
against  it,  the  girl's  uncle,  Publius  Numitorius,  and  her 
betrothed  spouse,  Icilius,  just  came  in;  and  way  being 
made  through  the  crowd,  the  multitude  thinking  that 
Appius  might  be  most  effectually  resisted  by  the  interven- 
tion of  Icilius,  the  lictor  declares  that  "  ho  had  decided  the 
matter,"  and  removes  Icilius  when  he  attempted  to  raise 
his  voice.  Injustice  so  atrocious  would  have  fired  even  a 
cool  temper.  "  By  the  sword,  Appius,"  says  he,  "  I  must 
be  removed  hence,  that  you  may  carry  off  in  silence  that 
which  you  wish  to  be  concealed.  This  young  woman  I 
am  about  to  marry,  determined  to  have  a  lawful  and  chaste 
wife.  Wherefore  call  together  all  the  lictors  even  of  your 
colleagues;  order  the  rods  and  axes  to  be  had  in  readiness; 
the  betrothed  wife  of  Icilius  shall  not  remain  without  her 
father's  house.  Though  you  have  taken  from  us  the  aid 
of  our  tribunes,  and  the  power  of  appeal  to  the  commons 
of  Eome,  the  two  bulwarks  for  maintaining  our  liberty, 
absolute  dominion  has  not  therefore  been  given  to  you 
over  our  wives  and  children.  Yent  your  fury  on  our  backs 
and  necks ;  let  chastity  at  least  be  secure.  If  violence  be 
offered  to  her,  I  shall  implore  the  protection  of  the  citizens 
here  present  in  behalf  of  my  sjjouse;  Virginius  will  im- 
plore that  of  the  soldiers  in  behalf  of  his  only  daughter ;' 
we  shall  all  implore  the  protection  of  gods  and  men,  nor 
shall  you  carry  that  sentence  into  effect  without  our  blood. 
I  demand  of  you,  Appius,  consider  again  and  again  to  what 
lengths  you  are  proceeding.  Let  Virginius,  when  he  comes, 
consider  what  conduct  he  should  pursue  with  resj)ect  to 
his  daughter.  Let  him  only  be  assured  of  this,  that  if  he 
yield  to  the  claims  of  this  man  he  will  have  to  seek  out 
I.— N       t  25 


290  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [LiVY 

another  match  for  his  daughter.  As  for  my  part,  in  vindi- 
cating the  liberty  of  my  spouse,  life  shall  leave  me  sooner 
than  my  honor." 

The  multitude  was  now  excited,  and  a  contest  seemed 
likely  to  ensue. 

[The  judge,  however,  prudently  avoided  this,  by  consenting  that  the 
girl  should  be  bailed  till  the  following  day.  At  once  the  friends  of  the 
prisoner  sent  two  active  young  men  to  the  camp  to  warn  Virginius  and 
advise  him  to  make  all  haste  to  the  city.  Icilius  protracted  as  long  as 
possible  the  act  of  giving  bail,  so  as  to  allow  these  messengers  a  fair 
start.] 

Appius  having  delayed  a  short  time,  that  he  might  not 
appear  to  have  sat  on  account  of  the  present  case,  when  no 
one  applied,  all  other  concerns  being  given  up  by  reason 
of  their  solicitude  about  the  one,  betook  himself  home,  and 
writes  to  his  colleagues  to  the  camp  "  not  to  grant  leave 
of  absence  to  Virginius,  and  even  to  keep  him  in  confine- 
ment." This  wicked  scheme  was  late,  as  it  deserved  to 
be ;  for  Virginius,  having  already  obtained  his  leave,  had 
set  out  at  the  first  watch,  while  the  letter  regarding  his 
detention  was  delivered  on  the  following  morning  to  no 
purpose. 

But  in  the  city,  when  the  citizens  were  standing  in  the 
Forum  erect  with  exj)ectation,  Virginius,  clad  in  mourning, 
by  break  of  day  conducts  his  daughter,  also  attired  in 
weeds,  attended  by  some  matrons,  into  the  Forum,  with  a 
considerable  body  of  advocates.  He  then  began  to  go 
round  and  to  solicit  individuals,  and  not  only  to  entreat 
their  aid  as  a  boon  to  his  prayers,  but  demanded  it  as 
due  to  him ;  "  that  he  stood  daily  in  the  field  of  battle  in 
defence  of  their  children  and  wives,  nor  was  there  any 
other  man  to  whom  a  greater  number  of  brave  and  in- 
trepid deeds  in  war  can  be  asci'ibed  than  to  him.  What 
availed  it  if,  while  the  city  was  still  secure,  their  children 


LiVYj  THE  DAUGHTER   OF  VIRGINIUS.  291 

would  be  exposed  to  suffer  the  severest  hardships  which 
would  have  to  be  dreaded  if  it  was  taken?" 

DeHvering  these  observations  like  one  haranguing  in 
an  assembly,  he  solicited  them  individually.  Similar  argu- 
ments were  used  by  Icilius :  the  female  attendants  produced 
more  effect  by  their  silent  tears  than  any  language.  With 
a  mind  utterly  insensible  to  all  this  (such  a  paroxysm  of 
madness,  rather  than  of  love,  had  perverted  his  mind), 
Apjjius  ascended  the  tribunal;  and  when  the  claimant 
began  to  complain  briefly  that  justice  had  not  been  admin- 
istered to  him  on  the  preceding  day  through  a  desire  to 
please  the  people,  before  either  he  could  go  through  with 
his  claim  or  an  opportunity  of  reply  was  afforded  to  Vir- 
ginius,  Appius  interrupts  him.  The  preamble  with  which 
he  prefaced  the  sentence  ancient  authors  may  have  handed 
down,  perhaps,  with  truth;  because  I  nowhere  find  any 
one  that  was  likely  (to  have  been  used)  on  so  scandalous  a 
business,  it  seems  the  naked  fact  should  be  stated  as  being 
a  point  which  is  agreed  on, — viz.,  that  he  passed  a  sentence 
consigning  her  to  slavery.  At  first  all  were  astounded 
with  amazement  at  so  heinous  a  proceeding ;  then  silence 
prevailed  for  some  time.  Then,  when  Marcus  Claudius 
proceeded  to  seize  the  maiden,  the  matrons  standing  around 
her,  and  was  received  with  piteous  lamentation  of  the 
women,  Virginius,  menacingly  extending  his  hands  towards 
Appius,  says,  "  To  Icilius,  and  not  to  you,  Appius,  have  I 
betrothed  my  daughter ;  and  for  matrimony,  not  prostitu- 
tion, have  I  brought  her  up.  Do  you  wish  men  to  gratify 
their  lust  promiscuously,  like  cattle  and  wild  beasts? 
Whether  these  persons  will  endure  such  things,  I  know 
not ;  I  hope  that  those  will  not  who  have  arms  in  their 
hands."  When  the  claimant  of  the  girl  was  repulsed  by 
the  crowd  of  women  and  advocates  who  were  standing 
around  her,  silence  was  commanded  by  the  crier. 


292  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Livy 

The  decemvir,  engrossed  in  mind  by  his  lustful  propen- 
sities, states  that  not  only  from  the  abusive  language  of 
Icilius  yesterday,  and  the  violence  of  Yirginius,  of  which 
he  had  the  entire  Eoman  people  as  witnesses,  but  from  au- 
thentic information  also,  he  ascertained  that  cabals  were 
held  in  the  city  during  the  whole  night  to  stir  up  a  sedi- 
tion. Accordingly,  that  he,  being  aware  of  that  danger,  had 
come  down  with  armed  soldiers ;  not  that  he  would  molest 
any  peaceable  person,  but  in  order  to  punish  suitably  to  the 
majesty  of  the  government  persons  disturbing  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  state.  It  will,  therefore,  be  better  to  remain 
quiet.  "Go,  lictor,"  says  he,  "remove  the  crowd;  and 
make  way  for  the  master  to  lay  hold  of  his  slave."  When, 
bursting  with  passion,  he  had  thundered  out  these  words, 
the  multitude  themselves  voluntarily  separated,  and  the 
girl  stood  deserted,  a  prey  t-o  injustice. 

Then  Yirginius,  when  he  saw  no  aid  anywhere,  says,  "  I 
beg  you,  Appius,  first  pardon  a  father's  grief,  if  I  have 
said  anything  too  harsh  against  you;  in  the  next  place, 
suffer  me  to  question  the  nurse  before  the  maiden,  what  all 
this  matter  is?  that  if  I  have  been  falsely  called  her 
father,  I  may  depart  hence  with  a  more  resigned  mind." 
Permission  being  granted,  he  draws  the  nurse  and  the 
girl  aside  to  the  sheds  near  the  Temple  of  Cloacina,  which 
now  go  by  the  name  of  the  new  sheds ;  and  there  snatch- 
ing up  a  knife  from  a  butcher  (he  cried),  "  In  this  one 
way,  the  only  one  in  my  power,  do  I  secure  to  you  your 
liberty."  He  then  transfixes  the  girl's  breast,  and.  looking 
back  towai-ds  the  tribunal,  he  says,  "With  this  blood  I 
devote  thee,  Appius,  and  thy  head !" 

Appius,  aroused  by  the  cry  raised  at  so  dreadful  a  deed, 
orders  Yirginius  to  be  seized.  He,  armed  Avith  the  knife, 
cleared  the  way  whithersoever  he  went,  until,  protected  by 
the  crowd  of  persons  attending  him,  he  reached  the  gate. 


LiVY]  THE  DAUGHTER  OF   VIRGINIUS.  293 

Icilius  and  Numitorius  take  up  the  lifeless  body  and  ex- 
hibit it  to  the  people ;  they  deplore  the  villany  of  Appius, 
the  fatal  beauty  of  the  maiden,  and  the  dire  necessity  of 
the  father.  The  matrons  who  followed  exclaim,  "  Was 
this  the  condition  of  rearing  children  ?  Were  these  the 
rewards  of  chastity  ?"  and  other  things  which  female 
grief  on  such  occasions  suggests,  when  their  complaints 
are  so  much  the  more  affecting  in  proportion  as  (their 
grief)  is  more  intense  from  the  natural  tenderness  of  their 
minds.  The  voice  of  the  men,  and  more  especially  of 
Icilius,  entirely  turned  on  the  tribunitian  power,  on  the 
right  of  appeal  to  the  people  which  had  been  taken  from 
them,  and  on  the  indignities  thrown  upon  the  state. 

The  multitude  was  excited  partly  by  the  atrocious  nature 
of  the  deed,  partly  by  the  hope  of  recovering  their  lib- 
erty through  a  favorable  opportunity.  Appius  now  orders 
Icilius  to  be  summoned  before  him,  now,  on  refusing  to 
come,  to  be  seized ;  at  length,  when  an  opportunity  of  ap- 
proaching him  was  not  afforded  to  the  beadles,  he  himself, 
proceeding  through  the  crowd  with  a  body  of  young  patri- 
cians, orders  him  to  be  taken  into  confinement.  Now,  not 
only  the  multitude,  but  Lucius  Valerius  and  Marcus  Hora- 
tius,  the  leaders  of  the  multitude,  stood  around  Icilius; 
who,  having  repulsed  the  lictor,  stated  that,  "  if  he  meant 
to  proceed  by  law,  they  would  protect  Icilius  from  one 
who  was  but  a  private  citizen ;  if  he  desired  to  employ 
force,  that  they  would  be  no  bad  match  for  him  even  then." 
Hence  arises  a  furious  scuffle.  The  decemvir's  lictor  at- 
tacks Valerius  and  Horatius ;  the  fasces  are  broken  by  the 
people.  Appius  ascends  the  tribunal ;  Horatius  and  Vale- 
rius follow  him.  To  them  the  assembly  pays  attention ; 
they  drown  with  clamor  the  voice  of  the  decemvir.  ISTow 
Valerius  authoritatively  ordered  the  lictors  to  depart  from 
one  who  was  but  a  private  citizen ;  when  Appius,  whose 
I.  25* 


294  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Liyt 

spirits  were  now  broken,  being  alarmed  for  his  life,  betook 
himself  into  a  house  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Forum,  un- 
known to  his  enemies,  with  his  head  covered  uj). 

[The  sequel  of  this  thrilling  story  we  must  give  in  epitome,  as  it  is 
told  at  great  length  by  Livy.  Virginius  fled  to  the  camp,  followed 
by  about  four  hundred  citizens,  and  rushed  among  the  soldiers, 
brandishing  the  fatal  knife,  and  covered  with  blood,  while  to  their 
eager  questions  his  sole  response  was  an  outburst  of  tears.  But  the 
story  quickly  spread  through  the  camp,  and  the  indignant  soldiers, 
heedless  of  the  commands  and  entreaties  of  their  leaders,  seized  their 
arms  and  standards  and  marched  tumultuously  to  Rome.  There,  es- 
tablishing themselves  on  the  Aventine,  and  afterwards  on  the  Sacred 
Mount,  they  sternly  demanded  justice  and  liberty,  requiring  the  de- 
position of  the  decemvirs  and  the  restoration  of  the  tribunes  and  of 
popular  liberty.  The  Senate,  in  alarm,  gave  way  to  all  their  demands. 
Valerius  and  Horatius  were  chosen  as  consuls,  and  ten  tribunes  of  the 
people  were  appointed,  the  first  three  names  being  those  of  Virginius, 
Icilius,  and  Numitorius.  The  decemvirs  were  deposed,  and  the  most 
guilty  of  them,  Appius  Claudius  and  Spurius  Oppius,  were  put  on 
trial  for  their  crimes.  Virginius,  as  leading  tribune,  pushed  the 
prosecution  against  Appius  with  such  vigor  that,  in  spite  of  every 
effort  of  the  patricians,  a  trial,  which  could  end  only  in  conviction,  was 
ordered.] 

Accordingly,  all  hope  being  cut  off,  Appius  put  a  period 
to  his  life  before  the  day  arrived  appointed  for  his  trial. 
Soon  after,  SjDurius  Oppius,  the  next  object  of  public  in- 
dignation, as  having  been  in  the  city  when  the  unjust  de- 
cision was  given  by  his  colleague,  was  arraigned  by  Publius 
Numitorius.  However,  an  act  of  injustice  committed  by 
Oppius  brought  more  odium  on  him  than  the  not  prevent- 
insc  one.  A  witness  Avas  brought  forward  who,  after  reck- 
oning  up  twenty  campaigns,  after  having  been  particularly 
honored  eiffht  different  times,  and  wearino-  these  honors  in 
the  sight  of  the  Eoman  people,  tore  open  his  garment  and 
exhibited  his  back  torn  with  stripes,  asking  no  other  con- 


Pindar]        FROM  THE  FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE.  295 

ditions  but  "  that,  if  the  accused  could  name  one  guilty  act 
of  his,  he  might,  though  a  private  individual,  once  more 
repeat  his  severity  on  him."  Oppius  was  also  thrown  into 
prison,  where  he  put  a  period  to  his  life  before  the  day 
of  trial.  The  tribunes  confiscated  the  property  of  Appius 
and  Oppius.  Their  colleagues  left  their  homes  to  go  into 
exile ;  their  property  was  confiscated.  Marcus  Claudius,  the 
claimant  of  Virginia,  being  condemned  on  the  day  of  his 
trial,  was  discharged,  and  went  away  into  exile  to  Tibur, 
Virginius  himself  remitting  the  penalty  as  far  as  it  afi'ected 
his  life ;  and  the  shade  of  Virginia,  more  fortunate  after 
death  than  when  living,  after  having  roamed  through  so 
many  families  in  quest  of  vengeance,  at  length  rested  in 
peace,  no  guilty  person  being  left  unpunished. 


FROM  THE  FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE. 

PINDAR. 

[Pindar,  universally  held  by  the  ancients  as  the  greatest  of  the  lyric 
poets  of  Greece,  was  borii  at  Thebes,  or  at  the  neighboring  village  of 
Cynocephalse,  in  the  year  522  B.C.  He  died  442  B.C.,  in  the  eightieth 
year  of  his  age.  This  distinguished  songster  belonged  to  a  race  of 
noble  origin  and  poetic  affiliation,  and  the  youthful  Pindar,  whose 
genius  early  displayed  itself,  was  sent  by  his  parents  to  Athens  to  be 
histructed  in  the  poetic  art.  His  studies  completed,  he  returned  to 
Thebes,  where  he  became  intimately  associated  with  Myrtis  and  Co- 
rinna,  two  poetesses  of  high  celebrity.  From  poetic  contests  with  these 
associates  he  soon  broke  into  that  nobler  strain  which  has  given  him 
world-wide  fame.  Of  the  products  of  his  matured  genius  we  possess 
entire  only  the  "  Epinicia,"  or  triumphal  odes  in  honor  of  the  victors 
in  the  Olympian,  Pythian,  Nemean,  and  Isthmian  games.  Of  his 
other  poems  only  fragments  remain. 


296  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pindar 

These  odes  are  noted  for  their  obscurity,  the  copiousness  and  invo- 
lution of  their  thoughts  rendering  them  a  puzzle  to  the  best  Greek 
scholar.  Their  style  is  chaste  and  severe,  but  with  abundant  imagery 
and  picturesque  description.  We  select,  from  Gary's  translation,  por- 
tions of  the  ode  written  in  honor  of  Hiero  of  ^tna,  tyrant  of  Syracuse, 
and  victor  in  the  Pythian  chariot-races.] 

I.  1. 
O  LYRE  of  gold  ; 

Which  Phoebus,  and  that  sister  choir, 
With  crisped  locks  of  darkest  violet  hue, 
Their  seemly  heritage  forever  hold : 
The  cadenced  step  hangs  listening  on  thy  chime ; 
Spontaneous  joys  ensue ; 
The  vocal  troops  obey  thy  signal  notes  ; 
While  sudden  from  the  shrilling  wire 
To  lead  the  solemn  dance  thy  murmur  floats 
In  its  preluding  flight  of  sound ; 
And  in  thy  streams  of  music  drowned 
The  forked  lightning  in  heaven's  azure  clime 
Quenches  its  ever-flowing  fire. 

T.  2. 

The  monarch-eao-le  then  hanars  down 

On  either  side  his  flagging  wing, 

And  on  Jove's  sceptre  rocks  with  slumbering  head : ' 

Hovering  vapors  darkling  spread 

O'er  his  arched  beak,  and  veil  his  filmy  eye  : 

Thou  pour'st  a  sweet  mist  from  thy  string ; 

And  as  thy  music's  thrilling  arrows  fiy, 

He  feels  soft  sleep  effuse 

From  every  pore  its  balmy-stealing  dews, 

And  heaves  his  ruffled  plumes  in  slumber's  ecstasy. 

Stern  Mars  has  dropped  his  sharp  and  barbed  spear ; 

And  starts,  and  smiles  to  hear 


Pindar]        FROM  THE  FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE.  297 

Thy  warbled  chants,  while  joy  flows  in  upon  his  mind : 

Thy  music's  weapons  piei"ce,  disai-m 

The  demons  of  celestial  kind, 

By  Apollo's  music-charms, 

And  accent  of  the  zoned,  full-bosomed  maids 

That  haunt  Pieria's  shades. 

I.  3. 

But  they,  whom  Jove  abhors,  wnth  shuddering  ear 

The  voices  of  the  Muses  hear ; 

Whether  they  range  the  earth  or  tossing  sea : 

Such  is  that  hundred-headed  giant,  he 

Of  blessed  gods  an  enemy, 

Tjqihon,  who  lies  in  chasm  of  Tartarus  drear ; 

To  whom  Cilicia's  legend-fabled  cave 

His  nourished  being  gave  : 

Now  on  his  shaggy  breast 

Sicilia's  isle  and  Cuma's  sea-girt  shore 

Are  ponderously  prest ; 

And  that  round  pillar  of  the  sky 

With  congelation  hoar, 

jEtna,  crushes  him  from  high ; 

While  the  year  rolls  slow 

Nurse  of  keen-encrusted  snow.  .  .  . 

II.  2. 
A  miracle  of  sight  and  sound 

To  him  that  muses,  how  fast  bound 

That  giant  wallows  on  his  flinty  bed, 

Under  Etna's  beetling  head 

With  blackening  foliage  crowned. 

And  deep  beneath  the  mountain's  roots  profound ; 

While  as  his  limbs  at  their  huge  length  are  spread, 

His  back  is  scarred  with  many  a  rocky  wound. 


298         ,  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pindar 

Oil,  grant  me,  Jove !  with  strains  like  these 

Thy  gracious  ear  to  please  : 

This  forehead  of  green  earth,  this  mount  in  air 

Swelling  sublime,  thine  eye  o'ersees  : 

The  founder  of  illustrious  fame 

Bade  the  neighboring  city  bear 

The  mountain's  kindred  name : 

Its  honors  to  the  gazing  crowd 

Did  the  herald's  voice  proclaim, 

In  him  who,  graced  with  conquest  proud, 

In  chariots  winning  fresh  renown, 

Wears  now  the  Pythian  crown.  .  .  . 

Phoebus !  that  lovest  Castalia's  fount 

Flowing  round  Parnassus'  mount, 

Hear  what  now  I  sing  : 

Lay  it  within  thy  soul  to  distant  time, 

And  let  Sicilia's  clime. 

As  now,  with  men  heroic  spring. 

III.  1. 

For  from  the  gods  descend 

All  high  designs  that  here  on  earth 

Point  the  virtues  to  their  end : 

The  wise  of  thought,  the  strong  of  hand. 

The  eloquent  of  tongue, 

Not  from  ourselves  are  sprung, 

But  from  a  secret  and  divine  command 

Are  ushered  into  birth. 

Now,  while  the  hope  within  me  stirs,  to  praise 

That  man  of  victory. 

While  in  my  poising  grasp  I  raise 

The  brass-tipped  javelin  high. 

Let  it  not  wide-starting  stray, 

But,  speeding  on  its  way, 


Pindar]        FROM  THE   FIRST  PYTHIAN  ODE.  299 

Far  o'erlcap  each  rival's  east : 
Time,  lot  the  future,  as  the  past, 
Felicity  bestow,  . 

And  bid  the  source  of  bounty  flow, 
And  sickness  in  oblivion  lay. 

III.  2. 
In  memory's  blazoned  roll 
Shall  rise  the  struggle  of  the  battle-hour, 
When  fought  the  gods  on  Hiero's  side, 
And  firm  in  fortitude  of  soul 
He  cropj)ed,  with  Gelo,  glory's  flower, 
Gathering  o'er  every  Greek  renown, 
And  winning  wealthy  empire's  gorgeous  crown.  .  .  . 

III.  3, 
May  the  healing  god  appear 
To  Hiero,  onward  as  the  moments  creep, 
Lull  his  grief  and  pain  to  sleep, 
Bid  speed  the  wishes  of  his  soul. 
And  his  frame  from  sickness  rear. 
Muse,  again  my  voice  obey ; 
This  strain  for  Hiero's  chariot-victory  won 
Sing  to  Dinomenes  the  son ; 
Not  with  averted  ear 
Shall  he  a  father's  triumph  hear : 
Come,  then ;  for  him  that  shall  o'er  ^Etna  sway, 
Meditate  the  pleasing  lay.  .  .  . 

V.  1. 
The  seasonable  speech. 

Grasping  in  narrow  space  the  sum  of  things, 
Draws  less  the  biting  obloquy 
Of  man's  invidious  tongue ; 
But  swollen  satiety 


300  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pindar 

Fastidious  loathing  brings, 

The  hearer's  thoughts  quick  soar  beyond  its  reach, 

And  fame  sheds  secret  gall 

In  citizens  with  envy  stung 

At  others'  noble  deeds  ; 

Yet  better  envy,  than  the  tear  let  fall 

By  pity  o'er  the  ills  corrujDtion  breeds : 

Then  pass  not  virtue  by ; 

In  steady  justice  bold 

The  nation's  rudder  hold. 

Governed  and  guided  still. 

And  shape  thy  tongue  and  will 

On  the  forge  of  verity. 

V.  2. 
The  lightest  word  that  falls  from  thee,  0  king, 
Becomes  a  mighty  and  momentous  thing  : 
O'er  many  placed,  as  arbiter  on  high, 
Many  thy  goings  watchful  see  ; 
Thy  ways  on  every  side 
A  host  of  faithful  witnesses  descry  : 
Then  let  thy  liberal  temper  be  the  guide  : 
If  ever  to  thine  ear 
Fame's  softest  whisper  yet  was  dear, 
Stint  not  thy  bounty's  flowing  tide ; 
Stand  at  the  helm  of  state ;  full  to  the  gale 
Sjjread  thy  wide-gathering  sail. 
Friend,  let  not  plausive  avarice  spread 
Its  lures  to  temj)t  thee  from  the  path  of  fame : 
For,  know,  the  glory  of  a  name 
Follows  the  mighty  dead. 

V.  3. 
Praise  lights  the  beaten  road 
Which  the  departed  trod. 


Pindar]  FROM  THE  SECOND   OLYMPIC.  301 

And  gilds  the  speaker's  tongue,  the  poet's  lays : 

JSTot  Croesus'  virtue  mild  decays  ; 

But  hateful  fame  shall  ever  cling 

To  Phalaris,  him  merciless  of  mind, 

Who  in  the  brazen  bull's  rebellowing  void 

Burned  with  the  flame  his  kind  : 

Never  for  him  the  social  roof  shall  ring 

With  sound  of  harps  in  descant  sweet ; 

Ne'er  has  his  name  employed 

The  tongue  of  boys,  that  prattling  tales  repeat : 

The  virtuous  deed 

Is  honor's  highest  meed ; 

That  deed's  recorded  fame 

Next  touches  with  delight  the  human  ear : 

The  man  that  thus  shall  act  and  hear 

May  the  crown  of  glory  claim. 

[Pindar  had  some  incitement  for  his  praises  of  Hiero,  who  treated 
him,  while  at  his  court,  rather  as  a  prince  than  as  a  poet.  We  append 
short  extracts  from  some  others  of  his  odes.] 

FROM    THE   SECOND   OLYMPIC. 

The  deeds  that  stubborn  mortals  do 

In  this  disordered  nook  of  Jove's  domain 
All  find  their  meed,  and  there's  a  judge  below 

Whose  hateful  doom  inflicts  th'  inevitable  pain. 
O'er  the  Good,  soft  suns  awhile, 

Through  the  mild  day,  the  night  serene, 
Alike  with  cloudless  lustre  smile, 

Tempering  all  the  tranquil  scene. 
Theii"s  is  leisure  ;  vex  not  they 
Stubborn  soil  or  watery  way. 
To  wring  from  toil  want's  worthless  bread  : 
No  ills  they  know,  nor  tears  they  shed, 
I.  26 


302  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Pindar 

But  with  the  glorious  gods  below 

Ages  of  peace  contented  shai'e  : 
Meanwhile  the  Bad,  in  bitterest  woe, 

Eye-startling  tasks  and  endless  tortures  bear. 

All,  whose  steadfast  virtue  thrice 

Each  side  the  grave  unchanged  hath  stood, 
Still  unseduced,  unstained  with  vice, — 

They,  by  Jove's  mysterious  road, 
Pass  to  Saturn's  realms  of  rest, 
Happy  isle,  that  holds  the  blest ; 
"Where  sea-born  breezes  gently  blow 
O'er  blooms  of  gold  that  round  them  glow. 
Which  nature  boon  from  stream  or  strand 

Or  goodly  tree  profusely  showers  ; 
Whence  pluck  they  many  a  fragrant  band, 

And  braid  their  locks  with  never-fading  flowers. 

A.  Moore. 

FROM    THE    EIGHTH    NEMEAN. 

Hateful  of  old  the  glozing  plea. 
With  bland  imposture  at  his  side. 
Still  meditating  guile. 
Filled  with  reproaches  vile  ; 
Who  pulls  the  splendid  down. 
And  bids  th'  obscure  in  fostering  glory  shine. 

Such  temper  far  remove,  O  father  Jove,  from  me. 
The  simple  paths  of  life  be  mine ; 
That,  when  this  being  I  resign, 
1  to  my  children  may  bequeath 
A  name  they  shall  not  blush  to  hear. 
Others  for  gold  the  vow  may  breathe, 
Or  lands  that  see  no  limit  near ; 
But  fain  would  I  live  out  my  days. 


Plutarch]  ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA.  303 

Beloved  with  those  with  whom  they're  passed, 

In  mine  own  city,  till  at  last 

In  earth  my  limbs  are  clad  ; 

Still  praising  what  is  worthy  praise, 

But  scattering  censure  on  the  bad. 

For  virtue,  by  the  wise  and  just 

Exalted,  grows  up  like  a  tree, 

That  springeth  fi'om  the  dust, 

And,  by  the  green  dews  fed, 

Doth  raise  aloft  her  head 

And  in  the  blithe  air  waves  her  branches  free. 

Cart. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

PLUTARCH. 

[Plutarch  was  a  native  of  Chseronea  in  Boeotia,  where  he  was  born 
about  the  middle  of  the  first  century  a.d.  He  died  some  time  after 
106  A.D.  Of  his  many  writings  the  only  one  that  is  now  well  known 
is  his  celebrated  "  Parallel  Lives,"  the  most  agreeable  and  attractive 
biographical  work  which  the  ancient  world  has  left  us.  It  contains 
biographies  of  forty-six  eminent  Greeks  and  Romans,  arranged  in 
pairs,  and  ending  usually  with  a  comparison  of  the  members  of  each 
pair.  The  universal  popularity  of  this  work  is  due  to  the  dramatic 
vigor  with  which  it  is  written,  and  to  its  wealth  of  anecdote,  which 
makes  it  one  of  our  chief  authorities  for  the  private  lives  of  the  per- 
sons treated.  His  anecdotal  method,  fine  characterization,  and  great 
naturalness  of  description  have  given  Plutarch  a  wide  circle  of  readers  ; 
while  to  students  of  ancient  literature  his  numerous  quotations  from 
preceding  authors  are  of  great  value. 

In  regard  to  style  the  work  is  by  no  means  a  fine  example  of  Attic 
literature,  being  fixulty  and  careless  in  language  and  lacking  in  gram- 
matical and  rhetorical  skill.  It  has  also  many  errors  of  statement.  But, 
notwithstanding  all  this,  its  vivacity,  its  sensible  reflections,  and  its  high 
standard  of  morality  give  it  great  value.     We  select  for  illustration 


304  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

the  story  of  Antony's  infatuation  with  Cleopatra.  After  the  defeat  of 
Brutus  and  Cassius,  Antony  was  left  in  control  of  Greece  and  the 
Asiatic  provinces.] 

Antony's  behavior  was  at  first  very  acceptable  to  the 
Grecians.  He  attended  the  disputes  of  their  logicians, 
their  public  diversions  and  religious  ceremonies.  He  was 
mild  in  the  administration  of  justice,  and  affected  to  be 
called  the  friend  of  Greece,  but  particularly  the  friend 
of  Athens,  to  which  he  made  considerable  presents.  The 
Megarensians,  vying  with  the  Athenians  in  exhibiting 
something  curious,  invited  him  to  see  their  senate-house ; 
and  when  they  asked  him  how  he  liked  it,  he  told  them  it 
was  little  and  i-uinous.  He  took  the  dimensions  of  the 
temple  of  Apollo  Pythius,  as  if  he  had  intended  to  repair 
it ;  and,  indeed,  he  promised  as  much  to  the  senate. 

But  when,  leaving  Lucius  Censorinus  in  Greece,  he  once 
more  passed  into  Asia  ;  when  he  had  enriched  himself  with 
the  wealth  of  the  country ;  when  his  house  was  the  resort 
of  obsequious  kings,  and  queens  contending  for  his  favor 
by  their  beauty  and  munificence ;  then,  whilst  Csesar  was 
harassed  with  seditions  at  Eome,  Antony  once  more  gave 
up  his  soul  to  luxury,  and  fell  into  all  the  dissipation  of 
his  former  life.  The  Anaxenores  and  the  Zuthi,  the  harpers 
and  the  pipers,  Metrodorus  the  dancer,  the  whole  corps  of 
the  Asiatic  drama,  who  far  outdid  in  buffoonery  the  poor 
wretches  of  Italy, — these  were  the  people  of  the  court,  the 
folk  that  carried  all  before  them.  In  short,  all  was  riot  and 
disorder;  and  Asia,  in  some  measure,  resembled  the  city 
mentioned  by  Sophocles,  and  was  at  once  filled  with  the 
perfumes  of  sacrifices,  songs,  and  groans. 

When  Antony  entered  Ephesus,  the  women  in  the  dress 
of  Bacchanals,  and  men  and  boys  habited  like  Pan  and 
the  satyrs,  marched  before  him.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen 
through  the  whole  city  but  ivy  crowns,  and  spears  wi'eathed 


Plutarch]  ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA.  305 

with  ivy,  harps,  flutes,  and  pipes,  while  Antony  was  hailed 
by  the  name  of  Bacchus : 

Bacchus  !  ever  kind  and  free  1 

And  such,  indeed,  he  was  to  some ;  but  to  others  he  was 
savage  and  severe.  He  dejirived  many  noble  families 
of  their  fortunes  and  bestowed  them  on  sycophants  and 
parasites.  Many  were  represented  to  be  dead  who  were 
still  living,  and  commissions  were  given  to  his  knaves  for 
seizing  their  estates.  He  gave  his  cook  the  estate  of  a 
Magnesian  citizen  for  dressing  one  supper  to  his  taste ;  but 
when  he  laid  a  double  impost  on  Asia,  Hybrias,  the  agent 
for  the  people,  told  him,  with  a  pleasantry  that  was  agree- 
able to  his  humor,  that  "  if  he  doubled  the  taxes  he  ought 
to  double  the  seasons  too,  and  supply  the  people  with  two 
summers  and  two  winters."  He  added  at  the  same  time, 
with  a  little  more  asperity,  that  "as  Asia  had  already  raised 
two  hundred  thousand  talents,  if  he  had  not  received  it, 
he  should  demand  it  of  those  who  had ;  but,"  said  he,  "  if 
you  received  it,  and  yet  have  it  not,  we  are  undone."  This 
touched  him  sensibly,  for  he  was  ignorant  of  many  things 
that  were  transacted  under  his  authority ;  not  that  he  was 
indolent,  but  unsuspecting.  He  had  a  simplicity  in  his 
nature,  without  much  penetration;  but  when  he  found 
that  faults  had  been  committed  he  expressed  the  greatest 
concern  and  acknowledgment  to  the  sufferers.  He  was 
prodigal  in  his  rewai-ds  and  severe  in  his  punishments  ;  but 
the  excess  was  rather  in  the  former  than  in  the  latter. 
The  insulting  railleiy  of  his  conversation  carried  its  remedy 
along  with  it,  for  he  was  perfectly  liberal  in  allowing  the 
retort,  and  gave  and  took  with  the  same  good  humor. 
This,  however,  had  a  bad  effect  on  his  affairs.  He  imagined 
that  those  who  treated  him  with  freedom  in  conversation 
would  not  be  insincere  in  business.  He  did  not  perceive 
i.—u  26* 


306  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

that  his  sycophants  were  artful  in  their  freedom,  that  they 
used  it  as  a  kind  of  poignant  sauce  to  prevent  the  satiety 
of  flattery,  and  that,  by  taking  these  liberties  with  him  at 
table,  they  knew  well  that  when  they  complied  with  his 
opinions  in  business  he  would  not  think  it  the  effect  of 
complaisance,  but  a  conviction  of  his  superior  judgment. 

Such  was  the  frail,  the  flexible  Antony,  when  the  love 
of  Cleopatra  came  in  to  the  completion  of  his  ruin.  This 
awakened  every  dormant  vice,  inflamed  every  guilty  pas- 
sion, and  totally  extinguished  the  gleams  of  remaining 
virtue.  It  began  in  this  manner.  When  he  first  set  out 
on  his  expedition  against  the  Parthians,  he  sent  orders  to 
Cleopatra  to  meet  him  in  Cilicia,  that  she  might  answer 
some  accusations  which  had  been  laid  against  her  of  assist- 
ing Cassius  in  the  war.  Dellius,  who  went  on  this  message, 
no  sooner  observed  the  beauty  and  address  of  Cleopatra 
than  he  concluded  that  such  a  woman,  far  from  having  any- 
thing to  apprehend  from  the  resentment  of  Antony,  would 
certainly  have  great  influence  over  him.  He  therefore 
paid  his  court  to  the  amiable  Egyptian,  and  solicited  her 
to  go,  as  Homer  says,  "in  her  best  attire,"  into  Cilicia, 
assuring  her  that  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from  Antony, 
who  was  the  most  courtly  general  in  the  world.  Induced 
by  his  invitation,  and  in  the  confidence  of  that  beauty 
which  had  before  touched  the  hearts  of  Caesar  and  young 
Pompey,  she  entertained  no  doubt  of  the  conquest  of 
Antony.  When  Caesar  and  Pompey  had  her  favors,  she 
was  young  and  inexperienced ;  but  she  was  to  meet  Antony 
at  an  age  when  beauty  in  its  full  perfection  called  in  the 
maturity  of  the  understanding  to  its  aid.  Prepared,  there- 
fore, with  such  treasures,  ornaments,  and  presents  as  were 
suitable  to  the  dignity  and  aflluence  of  her  kingdom,  but 
chiefly  relying  on  her  personal  charms,  she  set  off  for 
Cilicia. 


H 
I 
m 

o 
> 

i— 
PI 

-< 


m 
o 

> 

H 
> 


Plutarch]  ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA.  307 

Though  she  had  received  many  pressing  letters  of  in- 
vitation from  Antony  and  his  friends,  she  held  him  in  such 
contempt  that  she  by  no  means  took  the  most  expeditious 
method  of  travelling.     She  sailed  along  the  river  Cydnus 
in  a  most  magnificent  galley.     The  stern  was  covered  with 
gold,  the  sails  were  of  purple,  and  the  oars  were  silver. 
These,  in  their  motion,  kept  time  to  the  music  of  flutes 
and  pipes  and  harps.     The  queen,  in  the  dress  and  charac- 
ter of  Yenus,  lay  under  a  canopy  embroidered  with  gold^ 
of  the  most  exquisite  workmanship,  while  boys  like  painted 
Cupids  stood  fanning  her  on  each  side  of  the  sofa.     Her 
maids  were  of  the  most  distinguished  beauty,  and,  habited 
like  the  JSTereids  and  the  Graces,  assisted  in  the  steerao-e 
and  conduct  of  the  vessel.     The  frae-rance  of  burnina-  in- 
cense  was  diffused  along  the  shores,  which  were  covered 
with  multitudes  of  people.     Some  followed  the  procession, 
and  such  numbers  went  down  from  the  city  to  see  it  that 
Antony  was  at  last  left  alone  on  the  tribunal.     A  rumor 
was  soon  spread  that  Venus  was  come  to  feast  with  Bac- 
chus for  the  benefit  of  Asia.     Antony  sent  to  invite  her  to 
supper ;  but  she  thought  it  his  duty  to  wait  upon  her  and 
to  show  his  politeness  on  her  arrival.     Ho  complied.     He 
was  astonished  at  the  magnificence  of  the  preparations, 
but  particularly  at  that  multitude  of  lights,  which  were 
raised  or  let  down  together,  and  disposed  in  such  a  variety 
of  square  and  circular  figures  that  they  afforded  one  of 
the  most  pleasing  spectacles  that  has  been  recorded  in 
history.     The  day  following,  Antony  invited  her  to  sup 
with  him,  and  was  ambitious  to  outdo  her  in  the  elegance 
and  magnificence  of  the  entertainment.     But  he  was  soon 
convinced  that  he  came  short  of  her  in  both,  and  was  the 
first  to  ridicule  the  meanness  and  vulgarity  of  his  treat. 
As  she  found  that  Antony's  humor  savored  more  of  the 
camp  than  of  the  court,  she  fell  into  the  same  coarse  vein, 


308  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

and  plaj^ed  upon  him  without  the  least  reserve.  Such 
was  the  vai'iety  of  her  powers  in  conversation  ;  her  beauty, 
it  is  said,  was  neither  astonishing  nor  inimitable ;  but  it 
derived  a  force  from  her  wit,  and  her  fascinating  manner, 
which  was  absolutely  irresistible.  Her  voice  was  delight- 
fully melodious,  and  had  the  same  variety  of  modulation 
as  an  instrument  of  many  strings.  She  spoke  most  lan- 
guages; and  there  were  but  few  of  the  foreign  ambas- 
sadors whom  she  answered  by  an  interpreter.  She  gave 
audience  herself  to  the  Ethiopians,  the  Troglodytes,  the 
Hebrews,  Arabs,  Syrians,  Medes,  and  Parthians.  Nor 
were  these  all  the  languages  she  understood,  though  the 
kings  of  Egypt,  her  predecessors,  could  hardly  ever  attain 
to  the  Egyptian,  and  some  of  them  forgot  even  their 
orij^inal  Macedonian. 

Antony  was  so  wholly  engrossed  with  her  charms  that 
while  his  wife  Fulvia  was  maintaining  his  interest  at  Eome 
against  Caesar,  and  the  Parthian  forces,  assembled  under 
the  conduct  of  Labienus  in  Mesopotamia,  were  ready  to 
enter  Syria,  she  led  her  amorous  captive  in  triumph  to 
Alexandria.  There  the  veteran  warrior  fell  into  every  idle 
excess  of  puerile  amusement,  and  offered  at  the  shrine  of 
luxury  what  Antipho  calls  the  greatest  of  all  sacrifices, — 
the  sacrifice  of  time.  This  mode  of  life  they  called  the 
inimitable.  They  visited  each  other  alternately  every  day ; 
and  the  profusion  of  their  entertainments  is  almost  incredi- 
ble. Philotas,  a  physician  of  Amphissa,  who  was  at  that 
time  pursuing  his  studies  in  Alexandria,  told  my  grand- 
father Lamprias  that,  being  acquainted  with  one  of  An- 
tony's cooks,  he  was  invited  to  see  the  preparations  for 
supper.  When  he  came  into  the  kitchen,  besides  an  in- 
finite variety  of  other  provisions,  he  observed  eight  wild 
boars  roasting  whole,  and  expressed  his  surprise  at  the 
number  of  the  company  for  whom  this  enormous  provision 


Plutarch]  ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA.  309 

must  have  been  made.  The  cook  laughed,  and  said  that 
the ,  company  did  not  exceed  twelve,  but  that,  as  every 
dish  was  to  be  roasted  to  a  single  turn,  and  as  Antony  was 
uncertain  as  to  the  time  when  he  would  sup,  particularly 
if  an  extraordinary  bottle  or  an  extraordinary  vein  of  con- 
versation was  going  round,  it  was  necessary  to  have  a  suc- 
cession of  suj)pers.  Philotas  added  that  being  afterwards 
in  the  service  of  Antony's  eldest  son  by  Fulvia,  he  was 
admitted  to  sup  with  him  when  he  did  not  sup  with  his 
father;  and  it  once  haj^pened  that,  when  another  physi- 
cian at  table  had  tired  the  company  with  his  noise  and 
impertinence,  he  silenced  him  with  the  following  sophism  : 
"  There  are  some  degrees  of  a  fever  in  which  cold  water 
is  good  for  a  man  ;  every  man  who  has  a  fever  has  it  in 
some  degree ;  and  therefore  cold  water  is  good  for  every 
man  in  a  fever."  The  impertinent  was  struck  dumb  with 
this  syllogism ;  and  Antony's  son,  who  laughed  at  his  dis- 
tress, to  reward  PhilotaS  for  his  good  offices,  pointing  to  a 
magnificent  sideboard  full  of  plate,  said,  "  All  that,  Philo- 
tas, is  yours !"  Philotas  acknowledged  the  kind  oifer,  but 
thought  it  too  much  for  such  a  boy  to  give.  And  after- 
wards, when  a  servant  brought  the  plate  to  him  in  a  chest, 
that  he  might  put  his  seal  upon  it,  he  refused,  and,  indeed, 
was  afraid  to  accept  it.  Upon  which  the  servant  said, 
"  What  are  you  afraid  of?  Do  not  you  consider  that  this 
is  a  present  from  the  son  of  Antony,  who  could  easily  give 
you  its  weight  in  gold  ?  However,  I  would  recommend  it 
to  you  to  take  the  value  of  it  in  money.  In  this  plate 
there  may  be  some  curious  pieces  of  ancient  workmanship 
that  Antony  may  set  a  value  on."  Such  are  the  anecdotes 
that  my  grandfather  told  me  he  had  from  Philotas. 

Cleopatra  was  not  limited  to  Plato's  four  kinds  of  flat- 
tery. She  had  an  infinite  variety  of  it.  Whether  Antony 
were  in  the  gay  or  the  serious  humor,  still  she  had  some- 


310  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

thing  ready  for  his  amusement.  She  was  with  him  night 
and  day.  She  gamed,  she  drank,  she  hunted,  she  reviewed 
with  him.  In  his  night  rambles,  when  he  was  reconnoi- 
tring the  doors  and  windows  of  the  citizens  and  throwing 
out  his  jests  upon  them,  she  attended  him  in  the  habit  of 
a  servant,  which  he  also,  on  such  occasions,  affected  to 
wear.  From  these  expeditions  he  frequently  returned  a 
sufferer  both  in  person  and  character.  But  though  some 
of  the  Alexandrians  were  displeased  with  this  whimsical 
humor,  others  enjoyed  it,  and  said  that  "  Antony  presented 
his  comic  parts  in  Alexandria,  and  reserved  the  tragic  for 
Home."  To  mention  all  his  follies  would  be  too  trifling ; 
but  his  fishing-story  must  not  be  omitted.  He  was  fishing 
one  day  with  Cleopatra,  and  had  ill  success,  which,  in  the 
presence  of  his  mistress,  he  looked  upon  as  a  disgrace ;  he 
therefore  ordered  one  of  his  assistants  to  dive  and  put  on 
his  hook  such  as  had  been  taken  before.  This  scheme  he 
put  in  practice  three  or  four  times,  and  Cleopatra  per- 
ceived it.  She  affected,  however,  to  be  surprised  at  his 
success,  expressed  her  wonder  to  the  people  about  her, 
and,  the  day  following,  invited  them  to  see  fresh  proofs 
of  it.  When  the  day  following  came,  the  vessel  was 
crowded  with  people ;  and  as  soon  as  Antony  had  let 
down  his  line  she  ordered  one  of  her  divers  immediately 
to  put  a  salt  fish  on  his  hook.  When  Antony  found  he 
had  caught  his  fish,  he  drew  up  his  line ;  and  this,  as  may 
be  supposed,  occasioned  no  small  mirth  amongst  the  spec- 
tators. "  Go,  general,"  said  Cleopatra,  "  leave  fishing  to 
us  petty  princes  of  Pharus  and  Canopus :  your  game  is 
cities,  kingdoms,  and  provinces." 

[Antony  subsequently  married  Octavia,  a  sister  of  Octavius,  but 
several  j^ears  afterwards  his  infatuation  for  Cleopatra  returned,  and  he 
rejoined  her  in  Egypt.  Hostilities  resulted,  Antony  was  defeated  and 
fled  to  Egypt,  and  on  pursuit  by  Octavius  killed  himself.     Cleopatra 


Plutakch]  ANTONY  AND   CLEOPATRA.  311 

tried  to  gain  an  influence  over  the  conqueror,  but,  finding  that  she  had 
failed  in  this,  she  resolved  on  self-destruction.  She  had  previously  ex- 
perimented with  poisons,  trying  them  on  various  persons,  and  had 
found  that  the  bite  of  the  asp  gave  the  most  painless  death.  Plutarch 
thus  describes  the  final  scene.] 

There  was  in  Csesar's  train  a  young  nobleman  whose 
name  was  Cornelius  Dolabella.  He  was  smitten  with  the 
charms  of  Cleopatra,  and,  having  engaged  to  communicate 
to  her  everything  that  passed,  he  sent  her  private  notice 
that  Ca3sar  was  about  to  return  into  Syria,  and  that  within 
three  days  she  would  be  sent  away  with  her  children. 
When  she  was  informed  of  this,  she  requested  of  Csesar 
permission  to  make  her  last  oblations  to  Antony.  This 
being  granted,  she  was  conveyed  to  the  place  where  he 
was  buried ;  and,  kneeling  at  his  tomb,  with  her  women, 
she  thus  addressed  the  manes  of  the  dead :  ''  It  is  not  long, 
my  Antony,  since  with  these  hands  I  buried  thee.  Alas ! 
they  then  were  free  ;  but  thy  Cleopatra  is  now  a  prisoner, 
attended  by  a  guard,  lest  in  the  transports  of  her  grief 
she  should  disfigure  this  captive  body,  which  is  reserved 
to  adorn  the  triumph  over  thee.  These  are  the  last  offer- 
ings, the  last  honors,  she  can  pay  thee ;  for  she  is  now  to 
be  conveyed  to  a  distant  country.  Nothing  could  part  us 
while  we  lived ;  but  in  death  we  are  to  be  divided.  Thou, 
though  a  Eoman,  liest  buried  in  Egypt ;  and  I,  an  Egyp- 
tian, must  be  interred  in  Italy,  the  only  favor  I  shall  re- 
ceive from  thy  country.  Yet,  if  the  gods  of  Eome  have 
power  or  mercy  left  (for  sui-ely  those  of  Egypt  have  for- 
saken us),  let  them  not  suffer  me  to  be  led  in  living 
triumph  to  thy  disgrace !  No ! — hide  me,  hide  me  with 
thee  in  the  grave ;  for  life,  since  thou  hast  left  it,  has  been 
misery  to  me." 

Thus  the  unhappy  queen  bewailed  her  misfortunes ;  and, 
after  she  had  crowned  the  tomb  with  flowers,  and  kissed 


312  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

it,  she  ordered  her  bath  to  be  prej)ared.  When  she  had 
bathed,  she  sat  down  to  a  magnificent  supper ;  soon  after 
which,  a  peasant  came  to  tlie  gate  with  a  small  basket. 
The  guards  inquired  what  it  contained ;  and  the  man  who 
brought  it,  putting  by  the  leaves  which  lay  uppermost, 
showed  them  a  parcel  of  figs.  As  they  admired  their 
size  and  beauty,  he  smiled,  and  bade  them  take  some,  but 
they  refused ;  and,  not  suspecting  that  the  basket  con- 
tained anything  else,  it  was  carried  in.  After  supjier 
Cleopatra  sent  a  letter  to  Cajsar,  and,  ordering  everybody 
out  of  the  monument  except  her  two  women,  she  made 
fast  the  door.  AYhen  CjBsar  opened  the  letter,  the  plain- 
tive style  in  which  it  was  written,  and  the  strong  request 
that  she  might  be  buried  in  the  same  tomb  with  Antony, 
made  him  suspect  her  design.  At  first  he  was  for  hast- 
ening to  her  himself,  but  he  changed  his  mind,  and  de- 
spatched others.  Her  death,  however,  was  so  sudden  that, 
though  they  who  were  sent  ran  the  whole  way,  alarmed 
the  guards  with  their  apprehensions,  and  immediately  broke 
open  the  doors,  they  found  her  quite  dead,  lying  on  her 
golden  bed,  and  dressed  in  all  her  royal  ornaments.  Iras, 
one  of  her  women,  lay  dead  at  her  feet,  and  Charmion, 
hardly  able  to  support  herself,  was  adjusting  her  mistress's 
diadem.  One  of  Caisar's  messengers  said,  angrily,  "  Char- 
mion, was  this  well  done  ?"  "  Perfectly  well,"  said  she, 
"  and  worthy  a  descendant  of  the  kings  of  Egypt."  She 
had  no  sooner  said  this  than  she  fell  down  dead. 

It  is  related  by  some  that  an  asp  was  brought  in  amongst 
the  figs  and  hid  under  the  leaves,  and  that  Cleopatra  had 
ordered  it  so  that  she  might  be  bit  without  seeing  it ;  that, 
however,  upon  removing  the  leaves  she  perceived  it,  and 
said,  "This  is  what  I  wanted."  Upon  which  she  imme- 
diately held  out  her  arm  to  it.  Others  say  that  the  asp 
was  kept  in  a  water-vessel,  and  that  she  vexed  and  pricked 


Various]  COMEDY  REMNANTS.  313 

it  with  a  golden  spindle  till  it  seized  her  arm.  Nothing  of 
this,  however,  could  be  ascertained ;  for  it  was  reported 
likewise  that  she  carried  about  with  her  a  certain  poison 
in  a  hollow  bodkin  that  she  wore  in  her  hair ;  yet  there 
was  neither  any  mark  of  poison  on  her  body,  nor  was 
there  any  serpent  found  in  the  monument,  though  the 
track  of  a  reptile  was  said  to  have  been  discovered  on  the 
sea-sands  opposite  to  the  windows  of  Cleopatra's  apartment. 
Others  again  have  affirmed  that  she  had  two  small  punc- 
tures on  her  arm,  apparently  occasioned  by  the  sting  of 
the  asp ;  and  it  is  clear  that  Caesar  gave  credit  to  this ; 
for  her  effigy,  which  he  carried  in  triumph,  had  an  asp  on 
the  arm. 

Such  are  the  accounts  we  have  of  the  death  of  Cleo- 
patra; and,  though  Caisar  was  much  disappointed  by  it, 
he  admired  her  fortitude,  and  ordered  her  to  be  buried  in 
the  tomb  of  Antony,  with  all  the  magnificence  due  to  her 
quality.  Her  women,  too,  were,  by  his  orders,  interred 
with  great  funeral  pomp.  Cleopatra  died  at  the  age  of 
thirty-nine,  after  having  reigned  twenty-two  years,  the 
fourteen  last  in  conjunction  with  Antony.  Antony  was 
fifty-three,  some  say  fifty-six,  when  he  died.  His  statues 
were  all  demolished,  but  Cleopatra's  remain  untouched ; 
for  Archibius,  a  friend  of  hers,  gave  Cffisar  a  thousand 
talents  for  their  redemption. 


COMEDY  REMNANTS. 

VARIOUS. 

[Each  of  the  three  schools  of  Greek  comedy,  the  Old,  the  Middle, 
and  the  New,  was  represented  by  numerous  writers,  though  of  these 
Aristophanes  alone  has  left  us  any  complete  works.     Fragments  alone 
I.— 0  27 


314  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

exist  of  the  works  of  the  others.  It  may  be  said  here  that  the  sharp 
personal  satire  of  Aristophanes  and  his  contemporaries  does  not  appear 
in  the  later  Comedy.  The  satire  of  the  Middle  Comedy  is  devoted  to 
the  vices  and  follies  of  classes  instead  of  persons.  The  New  Comedy 
makes  an  approach  to  the  modern  drama.  The  wild  spirit  of  mirth  is 
restrained,  and  more  earnestness  of  tone  introduced,  a  combination  of 
sport  and  earnest  replacing  the  bubbling  fun  and  overflowing  satire 
of  the  earlier  comedians.  The  New  Comedy  school  is  perhaps  best 
represented  in  the  works  of  the  Roman  authors  Plautus  and  Terence, 
whose  comedies  are  but  "adaptations"  of  those  of  Greece.  A  few  of 
the  more  striking  fragments  of  the  Greek  authoi-s  are  here  appended. 
The  first  given  is  from  the  "  Miners"  of  Pherecrates,  one  of  the  "  Old" 
comedians.] 

THE  DAYS   OF   PLUTUS. 

A.  The  days  of  Plutus  were  the  days  of  gold  ; 
The  season  of  high  feasting  and  good  cheer : 
Eivers  of  goodly  beef  and  brewis  ran 

Boiling  and  bubbling  through  the  steaming  streets, 

With  islands  of  fat  dumplings,  cut  in  sops 

And  slippery  gobbets,  moulded  into  mouthfuls 

That  dead  men  might  have  swallowed ;  floating  tripes 

And  fleets  of  sausages  in  luscious  morsels 

Stuck  to  the  banks  like  oysters  ;  here  and  there, 

For  relishes,  a  salt  fish,  seasoned  high, 

Swam  down  the  savory  tide  ;  when  soon,  behold  ! 

The  portly  gammon,  sailing  in  full  state 

Upon  his  smoking  platter,  heaves  in  sight, 

Encompassed  with  his  bandoliers  like  guards, 

And  convoyed  by  huge  bowls  of  frumenty. 

That  with  their  generous  odors  scent  the  air. 

B.  You  stagger  me  to  tell  of  those  good  days, 
And  yet  to  live  with  us  on  our  hard  fare, 
When  death's  a  deed  as  easy  as  to  drink. 

A.  If  your  mouth  waters  now,  what  had  it  done 
Could  you  have  seen  our  delicate  fine  thrushes, 


Vakious]  comedy  remnants.  315 

Hot  from  the  spit,  with  myrtle-berries  crammed, 
And  larded  well  with  celandine  and  parsley, 
Bob  at  your  hungry  lips,  crying.  Come,  eat  me ! 
Nor  was  this  all ;  for  pendent  overhead 
The  fairest,  choicest  fruits  in  clusters  hung ; 
Girls  too,  young  girls,  just  budding  into  bloom, 
Clad  in  transparent  vests,  stood  near  at  hand. 
To  servo  us  with  fresh  roses  and  full  cups 
Of  rich  and  fragrant  wine,  of  which  one  glass 
No  sooner  was  despatched  than  straight,  behold ! 
Two  goblets,  fresh  and  sparkling  as  the  first, 
Provoked  us  to  repeat  the  increasing  draught. 
Away  then  with  your  ploughs,  we  need  them  not, 
Your  scythes,  your  sickles,  and  your  pruning-hooks  ! 
Away  with  all  your  trumpery  at  once ! 
Seed-time,  and  harvest-home,  and  vintage-wakes — 
Your  holidays  are  nothing  worth  to  us. 
Our  rivers  roll  with  luxury ;  our  vats 
O'erflow  with  nectar,  which  providing  Jove 
Showers  down  by  cataracts ;  the  very  gutters 
From  our  house-tops  spout  wine,  vast  forests  wave 
Whose  very  leaves  drop  fatness,  smoking  viands 
Like  mountains  rise,  all  nature's  one  great  feast. 

Cumberland. 

[Antiphanes,  of  the  Middle  Comedy,  furnishes  us  the  following  well- 
drawn  picture  of  a  character  not  confined  to  Greece.] 

THE    PARASITE. 

What  art,  vocation,  trade,  or  mystery 

Can  match  with  your  fine  Parasite  ?     The  painter  ? 

He  !  a  mere  dauber :  a  vile  drudge,  the  farmer : 

Their  business  is  to  labor,  ours  to  laugh, 

To  jeer,  to  quibble,  'faith,  sirs !  and  to  drink. 


316  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

Ay,  and  to  driuk  lustily.     Is  not  this  rare  ? 

'Tis  life,  my  life  at  least :  the  first  of  pleasure 

Were  to  be  rich  myself;  but  next  to  this 

I  hold  it  best  to  be  a  parasite 

And  feed  upon  the  rich.     Now,  mark  me  right ! 

Set  down  my  virtues  one  by  one  :  imprimis. 

Good  will  to  all  men.     "Would  they  were  all  rich, 

So  might  I  gull  them  all :  malice  to  none ; 

I  envy  no  man's  fortune — all  I  wish 

Is  but  to  share  it :  would  you  have  a  friend, 

A  gallant,  steady  friend  ?     I  am  your  man  : 

No  striker  I,  no  swaggerer,  no  defamer. 

But  one  to  bear  all  these  and  still  forbear ; 

If  you  insult,  I  laugh,  unruffled,  merry, 

Invincibly  good-humored,  still  I  laugh  : 

A  stout  good  soldier  I,  valorous  to  a  fault. 

When  once  my  stomach's  up  and  supper's  served : 

You  know  my  humor,  not  one  spark  of  pride. 

Such  and  the  same  forever  to  my  friends : 

If  cudgelled,  molten  iron  to  the  hammer 

Is  not  so  malleable ;  but  if  I  cudgel, 

Bold  as  the  thunder :  is  one  to  be  blinded  ? 

I  am  the  lightning's  flash :  to  be  puffed  up  ? 

I  am  the  wind  to  blow  him  to  the  bursting : 

Choked,  strangled  ?  I  can  do't  and  save  a  halter : 

Would  you  break  doAvn  his  doors  ?    Behold  an  earthquake : 

Open  and  enter  them  ?    A  battering-ram : 

AVillyou  sit  down  to  supper?     I'm  your  guest. 

Your  very Jly,  to  enter  without  bidding: 

Would  3'ou  move  off?     You'll  move  a  well  as  soon  : 

I'm  for  all  work,  and  though  the  job  were  stabbing, 

Betraying,  false  accusing,  only  say. 

Do  this,  and  it  is  done !  I  stick  at  nothing; 

They  call  me  thunderbolt  for  my  despatch  : 


Various]  COMEDY  REMNANTS.  317 

Friend  of  my  friends  am  I :  let  actions  speak  me : 
I'm  much  too  modest  to  commend  myself. 

Cumberland. 

[Love  and  matrimony,  rarely  dealt  with  in  the  Old  Comedy,  are 
important  subjects  of  the  Middle.  Love  is  thus  satirically  dealt  with 
by  Aristophon.] 

Love,  the  disturber  of  the  peace  of  heaven, 
And  grand  fomenter  of  OlymjDian  feuds, 
Was  banished  from  the  synod  of  the  gods  : 
They  drove  him  down  to  earth  at  the  expense 
Of  us  poor  mortals,  and  curtailed  his  wings 
To  spoil  his  soaring,  and  secure  themselves 
From  his  annoyance.     Selfish,  hard  decree  ! 
For  ever  since  he  roams  th'  unquiet  world, 
The  tyrant  and  despoiler  of  mankind. 

Cumberland. 

[Of  the  New  Comedy  Menander  was  the  most  famous  author,  and 
was  classed  by  all  antiquity  at  the  head  of  the  comedy-writers  of  his 
a"-e.  Unfortunately,  of  his  works  only  a  few  short  fragments  have 
survived.  Some  of  these  are  pithy  sentences,  full  of  that  world-wisdom 
which  indicates  the  man  of  genius.     We  give  a  few  of  these.] 

WORDS   OF   WISDOM. 

You  say,  not  always  wisely,  Know  thyself : 
Know  others,  ofttimes  is  the  better  maxim. 

Of  all  bad  things  with  which  mankind  are  cursed, 
Their  own  bad  tempers  surely  are  the  worst. 

Abundance  is  a  blessing  to  the  wise  ; 
The  use  of  riches  in  discretion  lies. 
Learn  this,  ye  men  of  wealth  :  A  heavy  purse 
In  a  fool's  pocket  is  a  heavy  curse. 
I.  27* 


318  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Vakious 

If  you  would  know  of  what  frail  stuff  j^ou're  made, 
Go  to  the  tombs  of  the  illustrious  dead ; 
There  rest  the  bones  of  kings,  there  tyrants  rot ; 
There  sleep  the  rich,  the  noble,  and  the  wise ; 
There  j)ride,  ambition,  beauty's  fairest  form — 
All  dust  alike — compound  one  common  mass : 
Reflect  on  these,  and  in  them  see  yourself. 

[In  the  longer  fragments  of  Menander  we  possess  none  of  the 
sprightly  sallies  native  to  comedy,  none  of  the  voluptuous  descriptions 
imputed  to  him  by  Pliny,  none  of  the  love-scenes  mentioned  by  Ovid, 
but  instead  some  melancholy  remarks  upon  the  miseries  and  repinings 
of  mankind.  He  must,  however,  like  his  fellows,  have  his  fling  at 
woman,  as  in  the  following  neat  bit  of  satire.] 

If  such  the  sex,  was  not  the  sentence  just 

That  riveted  Prometheus  to  his  rock  ? 

Why  ?     For  what  crime  ?     A  spark,  a  little  spark, 

But  oh,  ye  gods!  how  infinite  the  mischief! — 

That  little  spark  gave  being  to  a  woman, 

And  let  in  a  new  race  of  j^lagucs  to  curse  us. 

[Another  fragment,  of  more  comic  tone  than  usual  in  his  relics,  is 
the  following.] 

Ne'er  trust  me,  Phanias,  but  I  thought  till  now 
That  you  rich  fellows  had  the  knack  of  sleeping 
A  good  sound  nap,  that  held  you  for  the  night ; 
And  not  like  us  poor  rogues,  who  toss  and  turn, 
Sighing,  Ah  me!  and  grumbling  at  our  duns: 
But  now  I  find,  in  spite  of  all  your  money. 
You  rest  no  better  than  your  needy  neighbors, 
And  sorrow  is  the  common  lot  of  all. 

[Of  his  misanthropic  philosophy  we  quote  one  example.] 

The  lot  of  all  most  fortunate  is  his 

Who,  having  stayed  just  long  enough  on  earth 


Epictetus]  philosophical    WISDOM.  319 

To  feast  his  sight  with  the  fair  face  of  J^ature, 

Suu,  sea,  and  clouds,  and  heaven's  bright  starry  fires, 

Di'ops  without  pain  into  an  early  grave. 

For  what  is  life,  the  longest  life  of  man, 

But  the  same  scene  repeated  o'er  and  o'er  ? 

A  few  more  lingering  days  to  be  consumed 

In  throngs  and  crowds,  with  sharpers,  knaves,  and  thieves: — 

From  such  the  speediest  riddance  is  the  best. 

Cumberland. 


PHILOSOPHICAL  WISDOM. 

EPICTETUS. 

[Of  the  Stoical  school  of  philosophy  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
advocates  was  Epictetus,  a  native  of  Hierapolis,  in  Phiygia,  who  was 
brought,  while  young,  to  Kome,  and  became  the  slave  of  one  Epaph- 
roditus,  a  personage  of  gross  tastes  and  habits.  Epictetus  was  a  slave 
in  body  only,  never  in  mind,  and  so  great  was  his  philosophic  equa- 
nimity of  character  that  nothing  could  disturb  it.  It  is  said  that 
Epaphroditus  one  day  amused  himself  with  twisting  the  leg  of  his 
slave,  to  see  how  for  he  could  twist  it  without  breaking  it.  "You 
will  breali  it,"  said  Epictetus.  The  moment  after  he  did  break  it.  "  I 
told  you  so,"  said  the  philosopher,  without  changing  a  muscle  of  his 
countenance. 

By  some  means  he  obtained  his  freedom,  and,  retiring  to  a  small  hut 
within  the  city  of  Kome,  he  studied  philosophy  and  became  a  popular 
teacher  of  morality.  His  life  was  distinguished  for  the  severity  of  its 
stoicism,  its  sobriety  and  virtue.  Yet  neither  virtue  nor  humility  saved 
him  from  banishment  with  the  other  philosophers,  by  Domitian,  about 
90  A.D.  He  retired  to  Epirus,  where  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  life  en- 
gaged in  the  teaching  of  philosophy.  He  himself  wrote  nothing,  but 
many  of  his  wise  sayings  were  collected  by  Arrian  and  other  of  his 
disciples,  and  published  by  the  former  in  two  works,  entitled  the 
"  Enchiridion"  and  the  "  Dissertations."  We  select  from  these  a  few 
examples  of  the  condensed  wisdom  of  the  great  philosopher.] 


320  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Epictetus 

HUMAN    SUPREMACY. 

When  a  person  is  possessed  of  some  either  real  or  imagi- 
nary superiority,  unless  he  has  been  well  instructed  he  will 
be  puffed  up  with  it.  A  tyrant,  for  instance,  says,  "  I  am 
supreme  over  all."  And  what  can  you  do  for  me?  Can 
you  exempt  my  desires  from  disappointment?  How  should 
you?  For  do  you  never  incur  your  own  aversions?  Are 
your  own  pursuits  infallible  ?  Whence  should  you  come  by 
that  privilege  ?  Pi'ay,  on  shipboard,  do  you  trust  to  your- 
self, or  the  pilot  ?  In  a  chariot,  to  whom  but  to  the  driver  ? 
And  to  whom  in  all  other  arts  ?  Just  the  same.  In  what, 
then,  does  your  power  consist  ? 

"  All  men  pay  regard  to  me."  So  do  I  to  my  desk.  I 
wash  it,  and  wipe  it,  and  drive  a  nail  for  the  service  of 
my  oil-flask.  "  What,  then  !  are  these  things  to  be  valued 
beyond  mef  No:  but  they  are  of  some  use  to  me,  and 
therefore  I  pay  regard  to  them.  Why,  do  not  I  pay  regard 
to  an  ass  ?  Do  I  not  wash  his  feet  ?  Do  I  not  clean  him  ? 
Do  not  you  know  that  every  one  pays  regard  to  himself, 
and  to  you,  just  as  he  does  to  an  ass  ?  For  who  pays  re- 
gard to  you  as  a  man  ?  Show  that.  Who  would  wish  to 
be  like  you  f  Who  would  desire  to  imitate  yow,  as  he  would 
Socrates  ?  "  But  I  can  take  off  your  head."  You  say  right. 
I  had  forgot  that  one  is  to  pay  regard  to  you  as  to  a  fever, 
or  the  colic,  and  that  there  should  be  an  altar  erected  to 
you,  as  there  is  to  the  goddess  Fever  at  Eome. 

What  is  it,  then,  that  disturbs  and  strikes  terror  into  the 
multitude  ?  The  tyrant  and  his  guards  ?  By  no  means. 
What  is  by  nature  free  cannot  bo  disturbed  or  restrained 
by  anything  but  itself  But  its  own  principles  disturb  it. 
Thus,  when  the  tyrant  says  to  any  one,  "  I  will  chain  your 
leg,"  he  who  values  his  leg  cries  out  for  pity,  while  he  who 
sets  the  whole  value  on  his  will  and  choice  says,  "  If  you 
imagine  it  for  your  interest,  chain  it."     "What!  do  not 


Epictetus]  philosophical    WISDOM.  321 

you  care  ?"  No  :  I  do  not  care.  "  I  will  show  you  that  I 
am  master."  You  ?  How  should  you  ?  Jupiter  has  set 
me  free.  What !  do  you  think  he  would  suffer  his  own  son 
to  be  enslaved  ?     You  are  master  of  my  carcass.     Take  it. 

THE   VOYAGE   OF   LIFE. 

As  in  a  voyage,  when  the  ship  is  at  anchor,  if  you  go  on 
shore  to  get  water,  you  may  amuse  yourself  with  picking 
up  a  shell-fish,  or  an  onion,  in  your  way,  but  your  thoughts 
ought  to  be  bent  towards  the  ship,  and  perpetually  atten- 
tive, lest  the  captain  should  call ;  and  then  you  must  leave 
all  these  things,  that  you  may  not  be  thrown  into  the  vessel, 
bound  neck  and  heels,  like  a  sheep :  thus  likewise  in  life, 
if,  instead  of  an  onion  or  shell-fish,  such  a  thing  as  a  wife 
or  child  be  granted  you,  there  is  no  objection ;  but  if  the 
captain  calls,  run  to  the  ship,  leave  all  these  things,  regard 
none  of  them.  But,  if  you  are  old,  never  go  far  from  the 
ship,  lest,  when  you  are  called,  you  should  be  unable  to 
come  in  time. 

PROPERTY    AND    PERSONALITY. 

These  reasonings  are  unconnected :  "  I  am  richer  than 
you  ;  therefore  I  am  better :  I  am  more  eloquent  than  you ; 
therefore  I  am  better."  The  connection  is  rather  this  :  "  I 
am  richer  than  you  ;  therefore  my  property  is  greater  than 
yours:  I  am  more  eloquent  than  you;  therefore  my  style 
is  better  than  yours."  But  you,  after  all,  are  neither  j^rop- 
erty  nor  style. 

TRUE    HAPPINESS. 

As  it  is  better  to  lie  straitened  for  room  upon  a  little 
couch  in  health  than  to  toss  upon  a  wide  bed  in  sickness, 
so  it  is  better  to  contract  yourself  within  the  compass  of  a 
small  fortune  and  be  happy,  than  to  have  a  great  one  and 
be  wretched. 

I. V 


322  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Epictetus 

OUR  ACTIONS. 
Our  actions  depend  on  ourselves ;  all  other  things  are 
independent  of  us :  let  us,  therefore,  devote  our  whole  at- 
tention to  the  correction  and  amendment  of  the  first ;  but 
it  is  madness  to  make  any  effort  to  avoid  the  other,  for 
they  are  entirely  beyond  our  control. 

THE   GUESTS. 

In  every  feast  remember  that  there  are  two  guests  to  be 
entertained,  the  body  and  the  soul,  and  that  what  you  give 
the  body  you  presently  lose,  but  what  you  give  the  soul 
remains  forever. 

TRUE   BENEVOLENCE. 

As  the  sun  does  not  wait  for  prayers  and  incantations  to 
be  prevailed  on  to  rise,  but  immediately  shines  forth,  and  is 
received  with  universal  salutation,  so  neither  do  you  wait 
for  applauses,  and  shouts,  and  praises,  in  order  to  do  good, 
but  be  a  voluntary  benefactor,  and  you  will  be  beloved  like 
the  sun. 

THE   BEST   LEGACY. 

Choose  rather  to  leave  your  children  well  instructed  than 
rich.  For  the  hopes  of  the  learned  are  better  than  the 
riches  of  the  ignorant. 

[To  these  moral  axioms  of  Epictetus  we  may  add  some  thoughts 
from  another  celebrated  moral  philosopher  of  the  ancient  world,  Marcus 
Aurelius,  the  wisest,  and  one  of  the  noblest  and  most  virtuous,  of  the 
Roman  emperors.  He  belonged  to  the  Stoic  sect  in  philosophy,  and 
has  recorded  his  doctrines  and  sentiments  in  a  Greek  work  called 
"Meditations,"  of  which  a  good  English  translation,  called  "The 
Thoughts  of  Marcus  Aui-elius  Antoninus,"  has  been  made  by  George 
Long.     From  this  we  give  a  few  extracts.] 

Some  things  are  hurrying  into  existence,  and  others  are 
hurrying  out  of  it ;  and  of  that  which  is  coming  into  ex 


Marcus  AuRELiirs]  PHILOSOPHICAL  WISDOM.  323 

istence  part  is  already  extinguished.  Motions  and  changes 
are  continually  renewing  the  world,  just  as  the  uninter- 
rupted course  of  time  is  always  renewing  the  infinite  dura- 
tion of  ages.  In  this  flowing  stream,  then,  on  which  there 
is  no  abiding,  what  is  there  of  the  things  which  hurry  by 
on  which  a  man  would  set  a  high  price  ?  It  would  be  just 
as  if  a  man  should  fall  in  love  with  one  of  the  sparrows 
which  fly  by,  but  it  has  already  passed  out  of  sight. 

How  strangely  men  act!  They  will  not  praise  those 
who  are  living  at  the  same  time  and  living  with  them- 
selves ;  but  to  be  themselves  praised  by  posterity,  by  those 
whom  they  have  never  seen  nor  ever  will  see,  this  they  set 
much  value  on.  But  this  is  very  much  the  same  as  if  thou 
shouldst  be  grieved  because  those  who  have  lived  before 
thee  did  not  praise  thee. 

If  any  man  is  able  to  convince  me  and  show  me  that  I 
do  not  think  or  act  right,  I  will  gladly  change ;  for  I  seek 
the  truth,  by  which  no  man  was  ever  injured.  But  he  is 
injured  who  abides  in  his  error  and  ignorance. 

A  cucumber  is  bitter — throw  it  away. — There  are  briers 
in  the  road — turn  aside  from  them. — This  is  enough.  Do 
not  add.  And  why  were  such  things  made  in  the  world  ? 
For  thou  wilt  be  ridiculed  by  a  man  who  is  acquainted 
with  nature,  as  thou  wouldst  be  ridiculed  by  a  carpenter 
and  shoemaker  if  thou  shouldst  find  fault  because  thou 
seest  in  their  workshop  shavings  and  cuttings  from  the 
things  which  they  make.  And  yet  they  have  places  into 
which  they  can  throw  these  shavings  and  cuttings,  and 
the  universal  nature  has  no  external  space ;  but  the  won- 
drous part  of  her  art  is  that  though  she  has  circumscribed 
herself,  everything  within  her  Avhich  appears  to  decay  and 
to  grow  old  and  to  be  useless  she  changes  into  herself,  and 


324  BEST  FOREIGN  A  UTHORS.  [Marcus  Aurelius 

again  makes  other  new  things  from  these  very  same,  so 
that  she  requires  neither  substance  from  without  nor  wants 
a  place  into  which  she  may  cast  that  which  decays.  She 
is  content,  then,  with  her  own  space,  and  her  own  matter, 
and  her  own  art. 

Suppose  that  men  kill  thee,  cut  thee  in  pieces,  curse  thee. 
What,  then,  can  these  things  do  to  prevent  thy  mind  from 
remaining  pure,  wise,  sober,  just?  For  instance,  if  a  man 
should  stand  by  a  limpid  pure  spring  and  curse  it,  the 
spring  never  ceases  sending  up  potable  water ;  and  if  he 
should  cast  clay  into  it,  or  filth,  it  will  speedily  disperse 
them  and  wash  them  out,  and  will  not  be  at  all  polluted. 
How,  then,  shalt  thou  possess  a  perpetual  fountain?  By 
forming  thyself  hourly  to  freedom  conjoined  with  content- 
ment, simplicity,  and  modesty. 

Everything  exists  for  some  end, — a  horse,  a  vine.  Why 
dost  thou  wonder?  Even  the  sun  will  say,  I  am  for  some 
purpose ;  and  the  rest  of  the  gods  will  say  the  same.  For 
what  purpose,  then,  art  thou  ?  To  enjoy  pleasure  ?  See 
if  common  sense  allows  this. 

He  who  does  wrong  does  wrong  against  himself.  He 
who  acts  unjustly  acts  unjustly  to  himself,  because  he 
makes  himself  bad. 

No  longer  talk  at  all  about  the  kind  of  man  that  a  good 
man  ought  to  be,  but  be  such. 

That  which  is  not  good  for  the  swarm,  neither  is  it  good 
for  the  bee. 


Juvenal]  THE  GROWTH  OF  LUXURY.  325 


THE  GROWTH  OF  LUXURY. 

JUVENAL. 

[Of  the  various  forms  of  poetry  whicli  were  cultivated  in  ancient 
literature,  Eome  can  claim  the  invention  of  one  only, — that  of  satire. 
This,  indeed,  was  not  quite  neglected  in  Greece,  but  in  no  extant  relics 
of  the  Greek  authors  do  we  find  that  tone  of  stem  and  uncompromising 
invective  which  marks  the  great  Koman  satirists.  By  far  the  great- 
est of  these  latter  was  he  from  whom  we  make  our  present  selection, 
Decimus  Junius  Juvenalis,  the  son  of  a  freedman,  born  at  Aquinum, 
a  Volscian  town,  about  100  a.d.  Of  his  history  we  know  but  little, 
except  that  he  is  supposed  to  have  offended  Domitian  by  satirizing  his 
favorite  actor  Paris,  for  which  he  was  sent  in  command  of  a  cohort  to 
the  frontiers  of  Egypt, — a  mild  form  of  banishment.  He  did  not  ap- 
pear as  a  satirist  till  middle  age,  and  died  about  eighty. 

At  no  time  in  the  history  of  the  world  was  satire  more  needed  than 
in  the  days  of  Juvenal.  The  corruption  of  imperial  Kome  had  cul- 
minated. There  was  no  religion,  no  justice,  no  morality.  Wealth 
alone  was  respected ;  poverty  simply  excited  contempt.  The  grave 
reserve  of  the  old  Komans  was  lost,  and  emperors  and  empresses  led 
the  way  in  scenes  of  folly,  profligacy,  and  indecency.  Philosophy  was 
a  cheat,  morality  a  pretence  ;  gambling,  gluttony,  and  far  worse  crimes 
everywhere  prevailed ;  the  morals  of  men  and  of  women  were  alike 
depraved  ;  the  streets  were  never  safe  from  robbers  and  assassins  ;  and 
not  even  in  the  private  recesses  of  his  house  could  a  man  safely  venture 
to  speak  his  true  sentiments ;  a  mere  thought  adverse  to  the  ruling 
favorite  Avas  dangerous. 

It  was  in  such  a  Eome  that  Juvenal  wrote,  and  such  are  the  public 
and  private  manners  which  are  revealed  on  his  burning  pages.  He  was 
not  a  man  of  amiable  temperament,  but  a  stern  moralist  and  a  rigid 
critic,  who  grasped  the  vices  of  his  day  with  ungloved  hands  and  un- 
yielding nerves.  The  ridicule  of  Horace  is  replaced  by  him  with 
burning  indignation,  and  the  humor  which  here  and  there  appears  on 
his  pages  is  of  a  scornful  and  austere  though  pungent  kind.  His  lan- 
guage is  frequently  gross  ;  but  he  had  gross  vices  to  deal  with,  and  he 
wrote  for  a  public  which  had  no  delicate  sense  of  the  proprieties  of 
I.  28     . 


326  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Juvknal 

language.  His  Satires  are  sixteen  in  number,  and  are  written  in  a 
clear,  powerful  style,  with  a  fine  power  of  word-painting.  The  lan- 
guage is  of  classic  elegance,  though  he  lived  in  a  time  of  degenerate 
taste.  The  selection  we  give,  in  Congreve's  translation,  is  from  the 
Eleventh  Satire,  one  of  the  less  vehement  of  these  vigorous  poems.] 

If  noble  Atticus  make  plenteous  feasts, 
And  with  luxurious  food  indulge  his  guests, 
His  wealth  and  quality  support  the  treat ; 
In  him  nor  is  it  luxury,  but  state : 
But  when  poor  Eutilus  spends  all  his  worth 
In  hopes  of  setting  one  good  dinner  forth, 
'Tis  downright  madness;  for  what  greater  jests 
Than  begging  gluttons,  or  than  beggars'  feasts  ? 

But  Eutilus  is  so  notorious  grown 
That  he's  the  common  theme  of  all  the  town. 
A  man,  in  his  full  tide  of  youthful  blood, 
Able  for  arms  and  for  his  country's  good, 
Urged  by  no  power,  restrained  by  no  advice, 
But  following  his  own  inglorious  choice 
.    'Mongst  common  fencers,  practises  the  trade, 
That  end  debasing  for  which  arms  were  made ; 
Arms,  which  to  man  ne'er-dying  fame  afford ! 
But  his  disgrace  is  owing  to  his  sword. 
Many  there  are  of  the  same  wretched  kind, 
Whom  their  despairing  creditors  may  find 
Lurking  in  shambles,  Avhere,  with  borrowed  coin, 
They  buy  choice  meats,  and  in  cheap  plenty  dine : 
Such,  whose  sole  bliss  is  eating, — who  can  give 
But  that  one  brutal  reason  why  they  live. 
And  yet  what's  more  ridiculous  ?  of  these 
The  poorest  wretch  is  still  most  hard  to  please ; 
And  he  whose  thin  transparent  rags  declare 
How  much  his  tattered  fortune  needs  repair 
Would  ransack  every  element  for  choice 


Juvenal]  THE   GROWTH  OF  LUXURY.  327 

Of  every  fish  and  fowl,  at  any  price ; 
If  brought  from  far,  if  very  dear  has  cost, 
It  has  a  flavor  then  which  pleases  most, 
And  he  devours  it  with  a  greater  gust. 
In  riot  thus,  while  money  lasts,  he  lives, 
And,  that  exhausted,  still  new  pledges  gives, 
Till,  forced,  of  mere  necessity,  to  eat. 
He  comes  to  pawn  his  dish  to  buy  his  meat ; 
Nothing  of  silver  or  of  gold  he  spares, 
Not  what  his  mother's  sacred  image  bears ; 
The  broken  relic  he  with  speed  devours, 
As  he  would  all  the  rest  of  's  ancestors. 
If  wrought  in  gold,  or  if  exposed  to  sale 
They'd  pay  the  price  of  one  luxurious  meal. 
Thus  certain  ruin  treads  upon  his  heels, 
The  stings  of  hunger  soon,  and  want,  he  feels ; 
And  thus  is  he  reduced  at  length  to  serve 
Fencers  for  miserable  scraps,  or  starve. 
Imagine  now  you  see  a  spendid  feast : 
The  question  is,  at  whose  expense  'tis  dressed. 
In  great  Ventidius  we  the  bounty  prize ; 
In  Rutilus,  the  vanity  despise  : 
Strange  ignorance  !  that  the  same  man,  who  knows 
How  far  yon  mount  above  this  mole-hill  shows, 
Should  not  perceive  a  difference  as  great 
Between  small  incomes  and  a  vast  estate ! 
From  heav'n  to  mankind,  sure,  that  rule  was  sent, 
Of  "know  thyself,"  and  by  some  god  was  meant 
To  be  our  never-erring  pilot  here 
Through  all  the  various  courses  which  we  steer.  .  .  . 
Whoe'er  attempts  weak  causes  to  support 
Ought  to  be  very  sure  he's  able  for't. 
And  not  mistake  strong  lungs  and  impudence 
For  harmony  of  words  and  force  of  sense : 


328  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Juvenal 

Fools  only  make  attempts  beyond  their  skill; 
A  wise  man's  power's  the  limit  of  his  will.  .  .  . 

This  day,  my  Persicus,  thou  shalt  perceive 
Whether,  myself,  I  keep  those  rules  I  give, 
Or  else  an  unsuspected  glutton  live ; 
If  moderate  fare  and  abstinence  I  prize 
In  public,  yet  in  jMvate  gormandize. 
Evadner's  feast  revived  to-day  thou'lt  see ; 
The  poor  Evadner,  I ;  and  thou  shalt  be 
Alcides  and  ^neas  both  to  me. 
Meantime,  I  send  you  now  your  bill  of  fare  ; 
Be  not  surprised  that  'tis  all  homely  cheer : 
For  nothing  from  the  shambles  I  provide. 
But  from  my  own  small  farm  the  tenderest  kid, 
And  fattest  of  my  flock, — a  suckling  yet, 
That  ne'er  had  nourishment  but  from  the  teat : 
No  bitter  willow-tops  have  been  its  food. 
Scarce  grass  ;  its  veins  have  more  of  milk  than  blood. 
ISText  that,  shall  mountain  'sparagus  be  laid, 
Pulled  by  some  plain  but  cleanly  country  maid : 
The  largest  eggs,  yet  warm  within  the  nest. 
Together  with  the  hens  that  laid  them,  dressed  ; 
Clusters  of  grapes,  preserved  for  half  a  year. 
Which  plump  and  fresh  as  on  the  vines  appear  ; 
Apples  of  a  ripe  flavor,  fresh  and  fair. 
Mixed  with  the  Syrian  and  the  Signian  pear, 
Mellowed  by  winter  from  their  cruder  juice. 
Light  of  digestion  now,  and  fit  for  use. 

Such  food  as  this  would  have  been  heretofore 
Accounted  riot  in  a  Senator ; 
When  the  good  Curius  thought  it  no  disgrace 
With  his  own  hands  a  few  small  herbs  to  dress, 
And  from  his  little  garden  culled  a  feast 
Which  fettered  slaves  would  now  disdain  to  taste ; 


Juvenal]  THE   GROWTH  OF  LUXURY.  329 

For  scarce  a  slave  but  has  to  dinner,  now, 
The  well-dressed  paps  of  a  fat  pregnant  sow. 

But  heretofore  'twas  thought  a  sumptuous  treat, 
On  birthdays,  festivals,  or  days  of  state, 
A  salt  dry  flitch  of  bacon  to  prepare  ; 
If  they  had  fresh  meat,  'twas  delicious  fare. 
Which  rarely  happened,  and  'twas  highly  prized 
If  aught  was  left  of  what  they  sacrificed. 
To  entertainments  of  this  kind  would  come 
The  worthiest  and  the  greatest  men  in  Home ; 
Nay,  seldom  any  at  such  treats  were  seen 
But  those  who  had  at  least  thrice  Consuls  been. 
Or  the  Dictator's  office  had  discharged. 
And  now,  from  honorable  toil  enlarged. 
Retired  to  husband  and  manure  their  land. 
Humbling  themselves  to  those  they  might  command. 
Then    might    y'    have    seen    the    good    old    general 

haste. 
Before  th'  appointed  hour,  to  such  a  feast ; 
His  spade  aloft,  as  'twere  in  triumph,  held, 
Proud  of  the  conquest  of  some  stubborn  field. 
'Twas  then,  when  pious  Consuls  bore  the  sway. 
When  Vice,  discouraged,  pale  and  trembling  lay. 
Our  Censors  then  were  subject  to  the  law. 
Ev'n  Power  itself  of  Justice  stood  in  awe. 
It  was  not  then  a  Roman's  anxious  thought 
Where  largest  tortoise-shells  were  to  be  bought, 
Where  pearls  might  of  the  greatest  price  be  had, 
And  shining  jewels  to  adorn  his  bed, 
That  he  at  vast  expense  might  loll  his  head. 
Plain  was  his  couch,  and  only  rich  his  mind ; 
Contentedly  he  slept,  as  cheaply  as  he  dined. 
The  soldier  then,  in  Crecian  arts  unskilled. 
Returning  rich  with  plunder  from  the  field, 

I.  28* 


330  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Juvenal 

If  cups  of  silver  or  of  gold  he  brought, 

"With  jewels  set,  and  exquisitely  wrought, 

To  glorious  trappings  straight  the  plate  he  turned, 

And  with  the  glittering  spoil  his  horse  adorned. 

Or  else  a  helmet  for  himself  he  made, 

Where  various  warlike  figures  were  inlaid : 

The  Eomau  wolf  suckling  the  twins  was  there, 

And  Mai"s  himself,  armed  with  his  shield  and  spear, 

Hovering  above  his  crest,  did  dreadful  show. 

As  threatenino'  death  to  each  resistine;  foe. 

l!^o  use  of  silver,  but  in  arms,  was  known ; 

Sj)lendid  they  were  in  war.  and  there  alone. 

jSTo  sideboards  then  with  gilded  plate  were  dressed, 

jSTo  sweating  slaves  with  massive  dishes  pressed ; 

Expensive  riot  was  not  understood. 

But  earthen  platters  held  their  homely  food. 

Who  would  not  envy  them  that  homely  bliss 

That  sees  with  shame  the  luxury  of  this  ?  .  .  . 

Woods  of  our  own  afforded  tables  then. 

Though  none  can  please  us  now  but  from  Japan. 

Invite  my  lord  to  dine,  and  let  him  have 

The  nicest  dish  his  appetite  can  crave, 

But  let  it  on  an  oaken  board  be  set. 

His  lordship  will  grow  sick,  and  cannot  eat : 

Something's  amiss,  he  knows  not  what  to  think, 

Either  your  venison's  rank,  or  ointments  stink. 

Order  some  other  table  to  be  brought, 

Something  at  great  expense  in  India  bought, 

Beneath  whose  orb  large  yawning  panthers  lie. 

Carved  on  rich  pedestals  of  ivory, 

He  finds  no  more  of  that  offensive  smell. 

The  meat  recovers,  and  my  lord  grows  well. 

An  ivory  table  is  a  certain  whet ; 

You  would  not  think  how  heartily  he'll  eat, 


Juvenal]  THE   GROWTH  OF  LUXURY.  331 

As  if  new  vigor  to  his  teeth  were  sent 
By  sympathy  with  those  of  th'  elephant. 

But  such  fine  feeders  are  no  guests  for  me ; 
E,iot  agx"ees  not  with  frugality  : 
Then,  that  unfashionable  man  am  I, 
With  me  they'd  starve,  for  want  of  ivory ; 
For  not  one  inch  does  my  whole  house  afford, 
Not  in  my  very  tables,  or  chess-board ;  • 
Of  bone  the  handles  of  my  knives  are  made, 
Yet  no  ill  taste  from  thence  affects  the  blade 
Or  what  I  carve,  nor  is  there  ever  left 
Any  unsavory  haut-gout  from  the  heft.  ... 

On  me  attends  a  raw  unskilful  lad. 
On  fragments  fed,  in  homely  garments  clad. 
At  once  my  carver  and  my  Ganymede  ; 
With  diligence  he'll  serve  us  while  we  dine. 
And  in  plain  beechen  vessels  fill  our  wine. 
No  beauteous  boys  I  keep,  from  Phrj^gia  brought, 
No  catamites,  by  shameful  panders  taught. 
Only  to  me  two  home-bred  youths  belong, 
Unskilled  in  any  but  their  mother-tongue ; 
Alike  in  feature  both  and  garb  appear, 
With  honest  faces,  though  with  uncurled  hair. 
This  day  thou  shalt  my  rural  pages  see. 
For  I  have  dressed  them  both,  to  wait  on  thee : 
Of  country  swains  they  both  were  born,  and  one 
My  ploughman's  is,  t'other  my  shepherd's  son ; 
A  cheerful  sweetness  in  his  looks  he  has. 
And  innocence  unartful  in  his  face. 
Though  sometimes  sadness  will  o'ercast  the  joy, 
And  gentle  sighs  break  from  the  tender  boy ; 
His  absence  from  his  mother  oft  he'll  mourn, 
And  with  his  eyes  look  wishes  to  return, 
Longing  to  see  his  tender  kids  again, 


332  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Suetonius 

And  feed  his  lambs  upon  the  flowery  plain : 
A  modest  blush  he  wears,  not  formed  by  art, 
Free  from  deceit  his  f\iee,  and  full  as  free  his  heart. 
Such  looks,  such  bashfulness,  might  well  adorn 
The  cheeks  of  youths  that  are  more  nobly  born ; 
But  noblemen  those  humble  graces  scorn. 
This  youth  to-day  shall  my  small  treat  attend. 
And  only  he  with  wine  shall  serve  my  friend, — 
With  wine  from  his  own  country  brought,  and  made 
From  the  same  vines  beneath  whose  fruitful  shade 
He  and  his  wanton  kids  have  often  played. 


THE  EMPEROR  TITUS. 

SUETONIUS. 

[C.  Suetonius  Tranquillus,  born  about  75  a.d.,  was  a  warm  friend 
of  the  younger  Pliny,  who  highly  praises  him,  and  through  whose  in- 
fluence he  gained  the  favor  of  the  emperor  Trajan  and  became  secre- 
tary to  the  emperor  Adrian.  The  date  of  his  death  is  unknown.  He 
wrote  some  works  of  importance,  those  extant  being  "  Lives  of  the 
Twelve  Caesars,"  "  Lives  of  Eminent  Grammarians,"  and  "  Lives  of 
Eminent  Ehetoricians."  Of  the  last-named  work  we  have  but  a  part. 
It  includes  lives  of  the  poets  Persius,  Lucan,  Juvenal,  Terence,  and 
Horace.  His  best-known  work  is  that  first  named.  It  contains  lives 
of  the  Caesars  from  Julius  to  Domitian,  and  is  full  of  information  to 
be  had  nowhere  else,  as  he  had  access  to  abundant  materials  which  no 
longer  exist.  Its  wealth  of  anecdote  proves  at  once  the  profligacy  of 
most  of  his  characters  and  his  own  impartiality  as  a  chronicler.  He 
draws  a  terrible  picture  of  the  times,  not  surpassed  by  those  of  Juvenal 
and  Tacitus.  We  give,  in  Thompson's  translation,  the  concluding 
portion  of  the  biography  of  the  emperor  Titus.  After  the  well-known 
exploits  of  this  personage  in  the  taking  of  Jerusalem,  he  returned  to 
Rome,  then  governed  by  his  fother,  Vespasian.] 


Suetonius]  THE  EMPEROR   TITUS.  333 

From  that  time  he  constantly  acted  as  colleague  with 
his  father,  and,  indeed,  as  regent  of  the  empire.  He  tri- 
umphed with  his  father,  bore  jointly  with  him  the  office 
of  censor,  and  was,  besides,  his  colleague  not  only  in  the 
tribunitian  authority,  but  in  seven  consulships.  Taking 
upon  himself  the  care  and  inspection  of  all  offices,  he  dic- 
tated letters,  wrote  proclamations  in  his  father's  name, 
and  pronounced  his  speeches  in  the  senate,  in  place  of  the 
quaestor.  He  likewise  assumed  the  command  of  the  prae- 
torian guards,  although  no  one  but  a  Eoman  knight  had 
ever  before  been  their  prefect.  In  this  he  conducted  him- 
self with  great  haughtiness  and  violence,  taking  off,  with- 
out scruple  or  delay,  all  those  he  had  most  reason  to  sus- 
pect, after  he  had  secretly  sent  his  emissaries  into  the 
theatres  and  camps  to  demand,  as  if  by  general  consent, 
that  the  suspected  persons  should  be  delivered  up  to  pun- 
ishment. Among  these  he  invited  to  supper  A.  Cajcina,  a 
man  of  consular  rank,  whom  he  ordered  to  be  stabbed  on  his 
departure,  immediately  after  he  had  gone  out  of  the  room. 
To  this  act,  indeed,  he  was  provoked  by  an  imminent  dan- 
ger ;  for  he  had  discovered  a  writing  under  the  hand  of 
Caecina,  containing  an  account  of  a  plot  hatched  among  the 
soldiers.  By  these  acts,  though  he  provided  for  his  future 
security,  yet  for  the  present  he  so  much  incurred  the  hatred 
of  the  people  that  scarcely  any  one  came  to  the  empire  with 
a  more  odious  character  or  more  universally  disliked. 

Besides  his  cruelty,  he  lay  under  the  suspicion  of  giving 
way  to  habits  of  luxury,  as  he  often  prolonged  his  revels 
till  midnight  with  the  most  riotovis  of  his  acquaintance. 
He  was  supposed,  besides,  to  be  of  a  rapacious  disposition  ; 
for  it  is  certain  that  in  causes  which  came  before  his  father 
he  used  to  offer  his  interest  for  sale  and  take  bribes.  In 
short,  people  publicly  expressed  an  unfavorable  opinion  of 
him,  and  said  he  would  prove  another  Nero.     This  preju- 


334  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Suetonius 

dice,  however,  turned  out,  in  the  end,  to  his  advantage,  and 
enhanced  his  praises  to  the  highest  pitch  when  he  was 
found  to  possess  no  vicious  propensities,  but,  on  the  con- 
traxy,  the  noblest  virtues.  His  entertainments  were  agree- 
able rather  than  extravagant ;  and  he  surrounded  himself 
with  such  excellent  friends  that  the  succeeding  princes 
adopted  them  as  most  serviceable  to  themselves  and  the 
state.  He  immediately  sent  away  Berenice  from  the  city, 
much  acrainst  both  their  inclinations.  Some  of  his  old 
eunuchs,  though  such  accomjjlished  dancers  that  they  bore 
an  uncontrollable  sway  upon  the  stage,  he  was  so  far  from 
treating  with  any  extraordinary  kindness  that  he  would 
not  so  much  as  witness  their  performances  in  the  crowded 
theatre.  He  violated  no  private  right ;  and  if  ever  man 
refrained  from  injustice,  he  did;  nay,  he  would  not  accept 
of  the  customary  and  allowable  offerings.  Yet  in  muniii- 
cence  he  was  inferior  to  none  of  the  princes  before  him. 
Having  dedicated  his  amphitheatre  [the  Colosseum],  and 
built  some  warm  baths  close  by  it  with  great  expedition, 
he  entertained  the  people  with  most  magnificent  spectacles. 
He  likewise  exhibited  a  naval  fight  in  the  old  Naumachia, 
besides  a  combat  of  gladiators,  and  in  one  day  brought  into 
the  theatre  five  thousand  wild  beasts  of  all  kinds. 

He  was  by  nature  extremely  benevolent ;  for  whereas 
all  the  emperors  after  Tiberius,  according  to  the  example « 
he  had  set  them,  would  not  admit  the  grants  made  by 
former  princes  to  be  valid  unless  they  received  their  own 
sanction,  he  confirmed  them  all,  by  one  common  edict, 
without  waiting  for  any  aijplications  respecting  them.  Of 
all  who  petitioned  for  any  favor  he  sent  none  away  without 
hopes.  And  when  his  ministers  i-epresented  to  him  that 
he  promised  more  than  he  could  perform,  he  rei^lied,  "  JSTo 
one  ought  to  go  away  downcast  from  an  audience  with  his 
prince."     Once  at  supper,  recollecting  he  had  done  nothing 


X 
m 

> 

JO 

o 

X 


c 


Suetonius]  THE  EMPEROR   TITUS.  335 

for  any  one  that  day,  he  broke  out  with  that  memorable 
and  justly-admired  saying,  "My  friends,  I  have  lost  a  day." 
More  particularly,  he  treated  the  people  on  all  occasions 
with  such  courtesy  that  on  his  presenting  them  with  a 
show  of  gladiators  he  declared  "  he  should  manage  it,  not 
according  to  his  own  fancy,  but  that  of  the  spectators," 
and  did  accordingly.  He  denied  them  nothing,  and  very 
frankly  encoux-aged  them  to  ask  what  they  pleased.  Es- 
pousing the  cause  of  the  Thracian  party  among  the  gladi- 
ators, he  fi-equently  joined  in  the  pojjular  demonstrations 
in  their  favor,  but  without  compromising  his  dignity  or 
doing  injustice.  To  omit  no  ojiportunity  of  acquiring 
popularity,  he  sometimes  made  use  himself  of  the  baths 
he  had  erected,  without  excluding  the  common  people. 

There  happened  in  his  reign  some  dreadful  accidents, — an 
eruption  of  Mount  Vesuvius*  in  Campania,  and  a  fire  in 
Rome,  which  continued  three  days  and  three  nights,  besides 
a  plague  such  as  was  scarcely  ever  known  before.  Amidst 
these  many  great  disasters,  he  not  only  manifested  the 
concern  which  might  be  expected  from  a  prince,  but  even 
the  aifection  of  a  father  for  his  people, — one  while  com- 
forting them  by  his  proclamations,  and  another  while  re- 
lieving them  to  the  utmost  of  his  power.  He  chose  by  lot, 
from  amongst  the  men  of  consular  rank,  commissioners  for 
repairing  the  losses  in  Campania.  The  estates  of  those 
who  had  perished  by  the  eruption  of  Vesuvius,  and  who 
had  left  no  heirs,  he  applied  to  the  repair  of  the  ruined 
cities.  With  regard  to  the  public  buildings  destroyed  by 
fire  in  the  city,  he  declared  that  nobody  should  be  a  loser 
but  himself  Accordingly,  he  applied  all  the  ornaments  of 
his  palace  to  the  decoration  of  the  temples  and  purposes 
of  public  utility,  and  appointed  several  men  of  the  eques- 

*  That  in  which  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  were  destroyed. 


336  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sustonius 

trian  order  to  superintend  the  work.  For  the  relief  of 
the  people  during  the  plague  he  employed,  in  the  way  of 
sacrifice  and  medicine,  all  means  both  human  and  divine. 
Amongst  the  calamities  of  the  times  were  informers  and 
their  agents,  a  tribe  of  miscreants  who  had  grown  up  under 
the  license  of  former  reigns.  These  he  often  ordered  to  be 
scourged  or  beaten  with  sticks  in  the  forum,  and  then,  after 
he  had  obliged  them  to  j^ass  through  the  amphitheatre  as 
a  public  spectacle,  commanded  them  to  be  sold  as  slaves, 
or  else  banished  them  to  rocky  islands.  And,  to  discourage 
such  practices  for  the  future,  amongst  other  things  he  pro- 
hibited actions  to  be  successively  brought  under  different 
laws  for  the  same  cause,  or  the  state  of  affairs  of  deceased 
persons  to  be  inquired  into  after  a  certain  number  of  years. 
Having  declared  that  he  accepted  the  office  of  Pontifex 
Maximus  for  the  j^urpose  of  preserving  his  hands  undefiled, 
he  faithfully  adhered  to  his  promise.  For  after  that  time 
he  was  neither  directly  nor  indirectly  concerned  in  the 
death  of  any  person ;  though  he  sometimes  was  justly 
irritated.  He  swore  "  that  he  would  perish  himself  rather 
than  prove  the  destruction  of  any  man."  Two  men  of 
patrician  rank  being  convicted  of  aspiring  to  the  empire, 
he  only  advised  them  to  desist,  saying  "  that  the  sovereign 
power  was  disposed  of  by  fate,"  and  promised  them  that  if 
there  was  anything  else  they  desired  of  him  he  would  grant 
it.  He  also  immediately  sent  messengers  to  the  mother 
of  one  of  them,  who  was  at  a  great  distance,  and  in  deep 
anxiety  about  her  son,  to  assure  her  of  his  safety.  Nay, 
he  not  only  invited  them  to  sup  with  him,  but  next  day,  at 
a  show  of  gladiators,  purposely  placed  them  close  by  him, 
and  handed  to  them  the  arms  of  the  combatants  for  their 
inspection.  It  is  said  likewise  that,  having  had  their  nativ- 
ities cast,  he  assured  them  "  that  a  great  calamity  was  im- 
pending on  both  of  them,  but  from  another  hand,  and  not 


Suetonius]  THE  EMPEROR   TITUS.  337 

from  his."  Though  his  brother  was  continually  plotting 
against  him,  almost  openly  stirring  up  the  armies  to  rebel- 
lion, and  contriving  to  get  away,  yet  he  could  not  endure 
to  put  him  to  death,  or  to  banish  him  from  his  presence  ; 
nor  did  he  treat  him  with  less  respect  than  before,  but 
from  his  first  accession  to  the  empire  he  constantly  declared 
him  his  partner'in  it,  and  that  he  should  be  his  successor, 
begging  of  him  sometimes  in  private,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
"  to  retui-n  the  affection  he  had  for  him." 

Amidst  all  these  favorable  circumstances,  he  was  cut  off 
by  an  untimely  death,  more  to  the  loss  of  mankind  than 
himself  At  the  close  of  the  public  spectacles  he  wept 
bitterly  in  the  presence  of  the  people,  and  then  retired 
into  the  Sabine  country,  rather  melancholy  because  a 
victim  had  made  its  escape  while  he  was  sacrificing,  and 
loud  thunder  had  been  heard  while  the  atmosphere  was 
serene.  At  the  first  resting-place  on  the  road  he  was  seized 
with  a  fever,  and,  being  carried  forward  in  a  litter,  they 
say  that  he  drew  back  the  curtains,  and  looked  up  to 
heaven,  complaining  heavily  "  that  his  life  was  taken  from 
him,  though  he  had  done  nothing  to  deserve  it ;  for  there 
was  no  action  he  had  occasion  to  repent  of  but  one." 
What  that  was,  he  neither  disclosed  himself,  nor  is  it  easy 
for  us  to  conjecture.  .  .  . 

He  died  .  .  .  two  years,  two  months,  and  twenty  days 
after  he  had  succeeded  his  father,  and  in  the  one-and- 
fortieth  year  of  his  age.  As  soon  as  the  news  of  his  death 
was  published,  all  the  people  mourned  for  him  as  for  the 
loss  of  some  near  relative.  The  senate  assembled  in  haste, 
before  they  could  be  summoned  by  proclamation,  and, 
locking  the  doors  of  their  house  at  first,  but  afterwards 
opening  them,  gave  him  such  thanks  and  heaped  on  him 
such  pi'aises,  now  he  was  dead,  as  they  had  never  done 
whilst  he  was  alive  and  present  amongst  them. 
I.— p       w  29 


338  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Catullus 


ROMAN  LYRICS. 

VARIOUS. 

[Catullus,  born  in  87  B.C.,  stands  far  the  highest  in  the  second  rank 
of  Koman  poets,  and  in  certain  graces  of  lyrical  poetry  is  unsur- 
passed in  skill  and  merit.  He  borrowed  both  style  and  material  from 
the  Greeks,  but  applied  the  ideal  of  Grecian  love  and  beauty  to  Roman 
themes  with  an  art  and  ability  that  made  him  a  favorite  during  all  the 
days  of  the  Roman  empire.  His  poems  are  still  admired  for  their  ex- 
quisite grace  and  beauty  of  style,  despite  the  impure  voluptuousness  of 
many  of  them.  His  playfulness  and  petulance,  his  childlike  vivacity 
and  simplicity,  are  combined  with  the  greatest  melody  and  tenderness ; 
while  with  these  he  unites  passion  and  vehemence  and  a  biting  satiric 
wit.     "We  select  a  few  illustrative  examples  of  his  lyric  art.] 


TO    LESBIA  S    SPARROW. 

Sparrow !  my  nymph's  delicious  pleasure ! 

Who  with  thee,  her  pretty  treasiire, 

Fanciful  in  frolic,  plays 

Thousand,  thousand  wanton  ways  ; 

Thy  beak  with  finger-tip  incites, 

And  dallies  with  thy  becks  and  bites ; 

When  my  beauty,  my  desire, 

Feels  her  darling  whim  inspire. 

With  nameless  triflings,  such  as  these, 

To  snatch,  I  trow,  a  tiny  ease 

For  some  keen  fever  of  the  breast, 

While  passion  toys  itself  to  rest ; 

I  would  that  happy  lady  bo, 

And  so  in  pastime  sport  with  thee. 

And  lighten  love's  soft  agony. 

Elton. 


Catullus]  ROMAN  LYRICS.  339 

ELEGY   ON   THE   SPARROW. 

Loves  and  Graces,  mourn  with  me, 
Mourn,  fair  youths,  where'er  ye  be ! 
Dead  my  Lesbia's  sparrow  is. 
Sparrow,  that  was  all  her  bliss ; 
Than  her  very  eyes  more  dear, — 
For  he  made  her  dainty  cheer, 
Knew  her  well,  as  any  maid 
Knows  her  mother, — never  strayed 
From  her  lap,  but  still  would  go 
Hopping  round  her  to  and  fro. 
And  to  her,  and  none  but  she. 
Piped  and  chirruped  prettily. 
Now  he  treads  that  gloomy  track 
Whence  none  ever  may  come  back. 
Out  upon  you,  and  your  power. 
Which  all  fairest  things  devour, 
Orcus'  gloomy  shades,  that  e'er 
Te  took  my  bird  that  was  so  fair ! 
Oh,  vilely  done !     Oh,  dismal  shades  I 
On  you  I  charge  it  that  my  maid's 
Dear  little  eyes  are  swollen  and  red 
With  weeping  for  her  darling  dead. 

Martin. 

TO    THE   PENINSULA   OP   SIRMIO. 

(on  his  return  there  to  his  country-house.) 

Sweet  Sirmio !     Thou,  the  very  eye  f^ 

Of  all  peninsulas  and  isles 
That  in  our  lakes  of  silver  lie, 

Or  sleep  enwreathed  by  Neptune's  smiles, 

How  gladly  back  to  thee  I  fly ! 
Still  doubting,  asking.  Can  it  be 


340  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Catullus 

That  I  have  left  Bithynia's  sky 
And  gaze  in  safety  uj)on  thee  ? 

Oh,  what  is  happier  than  to  find 

Our  hearts  at  ease,  our  perils  past. 
When,  anxious  long,  the  lightened  mind 

Lays  down  its  load  of  care  at  last ; 

When,  tired  with  toil  o'er  land  and  deep, 

A2:ain  we  tread  the  welcome  floor 
Of  our  own  home,  and  sink  to  sleep 

On  the  lonsf-wished-for  bed  once  more  ? 


"& 


This,  this  it  is  that  pays  alone 
The  ills  of  all  life's  former  track ; 

Shine  out,  my  beautiful,  my  own 

Sweet  Sirmio,  greet  thy  master  back. 

And  thou,  fair  lake,  whose  water  quaffs 
The  light  of  heaven,  like  Lydia's  sea, 

Eejoice,  rejoice !  let  all  that  laughs 
Abroad,  at  home,  laugh  out  with  me ! 


T.  Moore. 


TO    HIMSELF. 

Then  didst  thou  freely  taste  the  bliss 
On  which  impassioned  lovers  feed ; 

When  she  repaid  thee  kiss  for  kiss. 
Oh,  life  was  then  a  heaven  indeed ! 

'Tis  past !     Forget  as  she  forgot ! 

Lament  no  more, — but  let  her  go  ! 
Tear  from  thy  heart  each  tender  thought 

That  round  her  image  there  did  grow ! 

Grirl,  fare  thee  well !     Catullus  ne'er 
Will  sue  where  love  is  met  with  scorn ; 


TiBULLUs]  ROMAN  LYRICS.  341 

But,  false  one,  thou,  with  none  to  care 
For  thee,  on  thy  lone  couch  shalt  mourn. 

Think  what  a  waste  thy  life  shall  be ! 

Who'll  woo  thee  now  ?  who  praise  thy  charms  ? 
Who  shall  be  all  in  all  to  thee. 

Thy  heart's  love  nestling  in  thy  arms  ? 

Who  now  will  give  thee  kiss  for  kiss  ? 

Whose  lips  shalt  thou  in  rapture  bite  ? 
And  in  thy  lone  hours  think  of  this, 

My  heart  has  cast  thee  from  it  quite. 

Martin. 

[Albius  Tibullus,  bom  about  54  B.C.,  was  a  warm  friend  of  the  poet 
Horace.  His  poems  are  love-elegies,  and  in  that  species  of  poetry  he 
is  confessedly  a  master.  His  style  is  easy  and  flowing,  with  soft  touches 
of  sentiment  and  expression,  while  his  language  is  free  from  the  gross 
license  of  many  of  his  contemporaries.  We  subjoin  a  characteristic 
example.] 

TO   DELIA. 

Let  others  boast  of  wealth  a  shining  store, 
And,  much  possessing,  labor  still  for  more ; 
Let  them,  disquieted  with  dire  alarms. 
Aspire  to  win  a  dangerous  fame  in  arms ; 
Me  tranquil  poverty  shall  lull  to  rest, 
Humbly  secure  and  indolently  blest ; 
Warmed  by  the  blaze  of  my  own  cheerful  hearth, 
I'll  waste  the  wintry  hours  in  social  mirth  ; 
In  summer  pleased  attend  the  harvest  toils, 
In  autumu  press  the  vineyard's  purple  spoils, 
And  oft  to  Delia  in  my  bosom  bear 
Some  kid  or  Iamb  which  wants  its  mother's  care : 
With  her  I'll  celebrate  each  gladsome  day 
When  swains  their  sportive  rites  to  Bacchus  pay ; 
I.  29* 


342  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tibullus 

With  her,  new  milk  on  Pales'  altar  pour, 

And  deck  with  ri^^oned  fruit  Pomona's  bower. 

At  night  how  soothing  would  it  be  to  hear, 

Safe  in  her  arms,  the  tempest  howling  near, 

Or,  while  the  wintry  clouds  their  deluge  pour, 

Shimber,  assisted  by  the  beating  shower ! 

Oh,  how  much  happier  than  the  fool  who  braves, 

In  search  of  wealth,  the  black  tempestuous  waves  I 

While  I,  contented  with  my  little  store. 

In  tedious  voyage  seek  no  distant  shore, 

But,  idly  lolling  on  some  shady  seat, 

Near  cooling  fountains,  shun  the  Dog-star's  heat : 

For  what  reward  so  rich  could  fortune  give 

That  I  by  absence  should  my  Delia  grieve  ? 

Let  great  Messala  shine  in  martial  toils. 

And  grace  his  palace  with  triumphal  spoils. 

Me  beauty  holds  in  strong  though  gentle  chains, 

Far  from  tumultuous  wars  and  dusty  plains. 

With  thee,  my  love,  to  pass  mj  tranquil  days. 

How  would  I  slight  ambition's  jjainful  praise ! 

How  would  I  joy  with  thee,  my  love,  to  yoke 

The  ox,  and  feed  my  solitary  flock ! 

On  thy  soft  breast  might  I  but  lean  my  head, 

How  downy  would  I  think  the  woodland  bed ! 

Hard  were  his  heart  who  thee,  my  fair,  could  leave 

For  all  the  honors  prosperous  war  can  give ; 

Though  through  the  vanquished  east  he  spreads  his  fame, 

And  Parthian  tjo-ants  tremble  at  his  name ; 

Though  bright  in  arms,  while  hosts  around  him  bleed, 

With  martial  pride  he  press  the  foaming  steed. 

No  pomps  like  these  my  humble  vows  require  ; 

With  thee  I'll  live,  and  in  thy  arms  expire. 

Thee  may  my  closing  eyes  in  death  behold  ! 

Thee  may  my  faltering  hand  yet  strive  to  hold  ! 


TiBPLLUs]  ROMAN  LYRICS.  343 

Then,  Delia,  then  thy  heart  will  melt  in  woe, 
Then  o'er  my  breathless  clay  thy  tears  will  flow ; 
Thy  tears  will  flow,  for  gentle  is  thy  mind, 
Nor  dost  thou  think  it  weakness  to  be  kind. 
But  oh,  fair  mourner,  I  conjure  thee,  spare 
Thy  heaving  breast  and  loose  dishevelled  hair ; 
Wound  not  thy  form,  lest  on  th'  Elysian  coast 
Thy  anguish  should  disturb  my  peaceful  ghost. 

But  now  nor  death  nor  parting  should  employ 
Our  sprightly  thoughts,  or  damp  our  bridal  joy : 
We'll  live,  my  Delia,  and  from  life  remove 
All  care,  all  business,  but  delightful  love. 
Old  age  in  vain  those  pleasures  would  retrieve 
Which  youth  alone  can  taste,  alone  can  give : 
Then  let  us  snatch  the  moment  to  be  blest ; 
This  hour  is  Love's :  be  Fortune's  all  the  rest. 

LoBD  Lyttleton. 

HOPE. 

Thousands  in  death  would  seek  an  end  of  woe, 
But  hope,  deceitful  hope,  prevents  the  blow ! 
Hope  plants  the  forest,  and  she  sows  the  plain, 
And  feeds  with  future  granaries  the  swain : 
Hope  snares  the  winged  vagrants  of  the  sky ; 
Hope  cheats  in  reedy  brooks  the  scaly  fry ; 
By  hope,  the  fettered  slave,  the  drudge  of  fate, 
Sings,  shakes  his  irons,  and  forgets  his  state. 

Grainger. 

[Sextus  Aurelius  Propertius,  born  about  52  B.C.,  shared  with  Horace 
and  Virgil  the  friendship  of  Maecenas,  the  celebrated  patron  of  litera- 
ture in  the  reign  of  Augustus.  As  an  amatory  elegiac  poet  he  was  of 
high  rank,  being  considered  by  some  of  the  ancients  superior  to  TibuUus. 
He  lacks,  indeed,  the  unstudied  elegance  of  the  latter,  his  works  dis- 
playing more  labor,  and  having  an  ostentation  of  learning  ;  but  they 
are  distinguished  for  vehemence  of  feeling,  while  they  possess  a  vein  of 


344  BEST  FOREIGN  A  UTHORS.         [Propertius 

irony  which  aids  to  give  them  more  spirit  and  variety  than  we  find  in 
the  smooth-flowing  poems  of  Tibulhis.  His  poems  are  chiefly  addresses 
to  a  lady  with  whom  he  was  at  first  infatuated,  but  whom  he  after- 
wards bitterly  reproached.     "We  give  an  attractive  example  of  these.] 

TO   CYNTHIA. 

Why  to  walk  forth,  sweet  life,  thy  tresses  braid  ? 
"Why  in  the  Coan  garb's  thin  folds  arrayed  ? 
"Why  with  Orontes'  myrrh  thy  locks  imbue, 
Thy  beauty's  price  enhance  by  foreign  show  ? 
Oh,  mark  what  blooms  the  j)ainted  earth  displays ; 
How  of  themselves  best  climb  the  ivy  sprays  j 
How  in  lone  caves  arbutus  lovelier  grows ; 
Through  untaught  channels  how  the  streamlet  flows ; 
How  native  gems  deckt  shores  spontaneous  3'ield, 
And  sweeter  notes  by  untamed  birds  are  trilled ! 

Leucippus'  daughter,  beauteous  Phoebe,  fired 
Young  Castor's  bosom,  with  no  gauds  attired ; 
And  her  fair  sister  Hilaira  too. 
As  unadorned,  delighted  Pollux'  view. 
No  ostentatious  ornaments  could  boast 
Evenus'  offspring,  on  her  native  coast ; 
"When  once  the  nymph  the  cause  of  discord  proved 
'Twixt  Idas  and  the  god  who  fondly  loved. 
Nor  Hippodamia,  when  the  stranger's  car 
In  triumph  bore  away  the  virgin  fair. 
By  beauties  borrowed  from  the  stores  of  art 
Subdued  to  love  her  Phrygian  husband's  heart ; 
No  jewels  heightened  her  bright  face,  that  showed 
Such  tints  as  in  Apelles'  pictures  glowed. 
These  hei'oines  strove  not  various  loves  to  win; 
Enough  for  them  by  chastity  to  shine. 
Yet  sure  in  virtue  thou  canst  vie  with  these : 
She  wants  no  charms  who  can  one  lover  please. 

NOTT. 


Propertius]  ROMAN  LYRICS.  345 

love's  effigy. 

Had  he  not  hands  of  rare  device,  whoe'er 
First  painted  Love  in  figure  of  a  boy  ? 

He  saw  what  thoughtless  beings  lovers  were, 
Who  blessings  lose,  while  lightest  cares  employ. 

Nor  added  he  those  airy  wings  in  vain, 

And  bade  through  human  hearts  the  godhead  fly ; 

For  we  are  tossed  upon  a  wavering  main ; 
Our  gale,  inconstant,  veers  around  the  sky. 

Nor  without  cause  he  grasps  those  barbed  darts, 
The  Cretan  quiver  o'er  his  shoulder  cast : 

Ere  we  suspect  a  foe,  he  strikes  our  hearts ; 
And  those  inflicted  wounds  forever  last. 

In  me  are  fixed  those  arrows,  in  my  breast ; 

But  sure  his  wings  are  shorn,  the  boy  remains ; 
For  never  takes  he  flight,  nor  knows  he  rest ; 

Still,  still  I  feel  him  warring  through  my  veins. 

In  those  scorched  vitals  dost  thou  joy  to  dwell? 

Oh,  shame !  to  others  let  thy  arrows  flee  ; 
Let  veins  untouched  with  all  thy  venom  swell  ; 

Not  me  thou  torturest,  but  the  shade  of  me. 

Destroy  me — who  shall  then  describe  the  fair  ? 

This  my  light  muse  to  thee  high  glory  brings, 
"When  the  nymph's  tapering  fingers,  flowing  hair. 

And  eyes  of  jet,  and  gliding  feet,  she  sings. 

Elton. 


346  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [JEschines 


THE  ORATION  "FOR  THE  CROWN." 

.aiSCHINES  AND   DEMOSTHENES. 

[The  life  and  character  of  Demosthenes  we  have  already  described. 
To  those  of  his  rival  iEschines  a  brief  reference  is  due.  This  orator, 
whose  fame  is  mainly  based  on  his  oration  assailing  Demosthenes, 
was  a  native  of  Attica,  where  he  was  born  in  389  B.C.  Though  he 
lacked  the  supreme  ability  and  the  severe  study  of  Demosthenes,  he 
had  excellent  natural  powers  of  oratory,  of  which  his  few  extant  ora- 
tions contain  abundant  evidence.  The  celebrated  oration  "For  the 
Crown"  had  the  following  origin.  After  the  death  of  Philip  of  Mace- 
don,  Ktesiphon  proposed  to  reward  Demosthenes,  for  the  services  he 
had  rendered  his  country,  with  a  golden  crown,  to  be  given  in  the 
theatre,  at  the  festival  of  Dionysos.  This  was  bitterly  oppposed  by 
JEschines,  who  was  an  adherent  of  the  party  of  Philip,  and  had  already 
been  charged  by  Demosthenes  with  lack  of  patriotism.  Several  years 
elapsed  before  the  question  came  before  the  Athenian  tribunal.  The 
speeches  that  followed  were  the  most  eloquent  efforts  of  the  two  orators. 
They  ended  in  a  complete  triumph  for  Demosthenes.  "We  select,  from 
Jebb's  translation  of  these  celebrated  orations,  some  of  the  more 
striking  passages.  _^schines,  as  accuser  of  Ktesiphon,  opens  the  case. 
He  claims  that  the  giving  of  a  crown  to  Demosthenes  is  illegal,  and 
proceeds  to  declare  that  the  man  who  is  to  be  crowned  for  his  public 
services  is  not  a  public  benefactor,  but  has  injured  rather  than  aided 
his  country  by  his  actions.  Then  he  continues  in  the  following  strain 
of  invective.] 

But  in  his  private  life,  what  is  he  ?  The  trierarch  sank, 
to  rise  a  pettifogger,  a  spendthrift  ruined  hj  his  own  follies. 
Then,  having  gotten  a  bad  name  in  this  trade  too  by  show- 
ing his  speeches  to  the  other  side,  he  bounded  on  the  stage 
of  public  life,  where  his  profits  out  of  the  city  were  as 
enormous  as  his  savings  were  small.  Now,  however,  the 
flood  of  royal  gold  has  floated  his  extravagance.     But  not 


^SCHINES]    THE  ORATION  ''FOR   THE  CROWN."  347 

even  this  will  suffice.  'No  wealth  could  ever  hold  out  long 
against  vice.  In  a  word,  he  draws  his  livelihood  not  from 
his  own  resources  but  from  your  dangers.  What,  however, 
are  his  qualifications  in  respect  to  sagacity  and  to  power 
of  speech?  A  clever  speaker,  an  evil  liver.  And  what 
is  the  result  to  Athens  ?  The  speeches  are  fair,  the  deeds 
are  vile.  Then,  as  to  courage,  I  have  a  word  to  say.  If 
he  denied  his  cowardice,  or  if  you  were  not  aware  of  it, 
the  topic  might  have  called  for  discussion;  but  since  he 
himself  admits  it  in  the  assemblies,*  and  you  know  it,  it 
remains  only  to  remind  you  of  the  laws  on  the  subject. 
Solon,  our  ancient  lawgiver,  thought  that  the  coward 
should  be  liable  to  the  same  penalties  as  the  man  who 
refuses  to  serve,  or  who  has  quitted  his  post.  Cowardice, 
like  other  oifences,  is  indictable.  Some  of  you  will  per- 
haps ask,  in  amazement,  Is  a  man  to  be  indicted  for  his 
temperament?  He  is.  And  why?  In  order  that  every 
one  of  us,  fearing  the  penalties  of  the  law  more  than  the 
enemy,  may  be  the  better  chamj)ion  of  his  country.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  lawgiver  excludes  alike  the  man  who  de- 
clines service,  the  coward,  and  the  deserter  of  his  post, 
from  the  lustral  limits  of  the  market-place,  and  suffers  no 
such  person  to  receive  a  wreath  of  honor  or  to  enter  j)lace3 
of  public  worship.  But  you,  Ktesiphon,  exhort  us  to  set  a 
crown  on  the  head  to  which  the  laws  refuse  it ;  you,  by 
your  private  edict,  call  a  forbidden  guest  into  the  fore- 
front of  our  solemn  festival,  and  invite  into  the  temple 
of  Dionysos  that  dastard  by  whom  all  temples  have  been 
betrayed ! 

[The  peroration  of  this  oration  is  notable  in  the  history  of  oratory 
for  its  vigorous  strength,  and  for  the  weakness  of  its  anticlimax.] 

*  Demosthenes  freely  admitted  that  he  had  fled  from  the  battle  of 
Chseronea. 


348  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [^schines 

Remember,  then,  that  the  city  whose  fate  rests  with  you 
is  no  alien  city,  but  your  own.  Give  the  prizes  of  ambi- 
tion by  merit,  not  by  chance;  reserve  your  rewards  for 
those  whose  manhood  is  truer  and  whose  characters  are 
worthier;  look  at  each  other  and  judge,  not  only  with 
your  ears,  but  with  your  eyes,  who  of  your  number  are 
likely  to  support  Demosthenes.  His  youthful  companions 
in  the  chase  or  in  the  gymnasium  ?  No,  by  the  Olympian 
Zeus!  He  has  not  spent  his  life  in  hunting  or  in  any 
healthful  exercise,  but  in  cultivating  rhetoric  to  be  used 
against  men  of  property.  Think  of  his  boastfulness, 
when  he  claims  by  his  embassy  to  have  snatched  Byzan- 
tium out  of  the  hands  of  Philip,  to  have  thrown  the 
Aeharnians  into  revolt,  to  have  astonished  the  Thebans 
with  his  harangue !  He  thinks  that  you  have  reached  a 
point  of  fatuity  at  which  you  can  be  made  to  believe  even 
this, — as  if  your  fellow-citizen  were  the  goddess  of  Per- 
suasion, instead  of  a  pettifogging  mortal.  And  when,  at 
the  end  of  his  speech,  he  calls  as  his  advocates  those  who 
shared  his  bribes,  imagine  that  j^ou  see  on  this  platform, 
where  I  now  speak  before  you,  an  array  drawn  uj)  to  con- 
front their  profligacy — the  benefactors  of  Athens :  Solon, 
who  ordered  the  democracy  by  his  glorious  laws,  the  phi- 
losopher, the  good  legislator,  entreating  you,  with  that 
gravity  which  so  well  became  him,  never  to  set  the  rhet- 
oric of  Demosthenes  above  your  oaths  and  above  the  law ; 
Aristides,  who  assessed  the  tribute  of  the  Confederacy, 
and  whose  daughters,  after  his  death,  were  dowered  by 
the  state,  indignant  at  the  contumely  threatened  to  justice, 
and  asking,  "  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  When  Arthmios  of 
Zeleia  brought  Persian  gold  to  Greece,  and  visited  Athens, 
our  fathers  wellnigh  put  him  to  death,  though  he  was  our 
public  guest,  and  proclaimed  him  expelled  from  Athens 
and  from  all   territory  that  the   Athenians   rule ;    while 


JEscHiNEs]    THE  ORATION  ''FOR    THE  CROWN."  349 

Demosthenes,  who  has  not  brought  us  Persian  gold,  but 
has  taken  bribes  for  himself,  and  has  kept  them  to  this 
day,*  is  about  to  receive  a  golden  wreath  from  you !" 
And  Themistokles,  and  they  who  died  at  Marathon  and 
Platsea,  ay,  and  the  very  graves  of  our  forefathers — do 
you  not  think  that  they  will  utter  a  voice  of  lamentation, 
if  he  who  covenants  with  barbarians  to  work  against 
Greece  shall  be  crowned  ? 

0  Earth  and  Sunlight !  O  ye  influences  of  G-oodness,  of 
Intelligence,  of  that  Culture  by  which  we  learn  to  distin- 
guish things  beautiful  or  shameful — I  have  done  my  duty, 
I  have  finished.  If  the  part  of  the  accuser  has  been  per- 
formed well  and  adequately  to  the  offence,  then  I  have 
spoken  as  I  wished ;  if  defectively,  yet  I  have  spoken  as  I 
could.  Judge  for  yourselves  from  what  has  been  spoken 
or  from  what  has  been  left  unsaid,  and  give  your  sen- 
tence in  accordance  with  justice  and  with  the  interests  of 
Athens. 

[To  this  oration,  in  which  was  sedulously  avoided  all  display  of 
the  real  feeling  that  animated  the  speaker,  friendship  to  Macedonia, 
and  opposition  to  Demosthenes  as  the  great  opponent  of  that  threat- 
ening state,  the  accused  orator  responded  in  the  most  brilliant  effort 
of  his  life,  and  in  what  is  considered  by  some  the  supreme  effort  of 
oratory  in  all  time.  We  can  give  but  some  short  extracts.  After 
pointing  out  to  the  judges  his  actual  policy,  the  orator  comes  to  his 
leading  subject:  Has  he  deserved  well  of  Greece?  He  describes,  con- 
cisely but  powerfully,  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the  service  of  his  coun- 
try, and  against  Philip,  his  country's  enemy.  Having  shown  that  the 
course  which  he  took  was  dictated  by  the  highest  patriotism,  he  ac- 
knowledges its  failure.  But  is  it  to  be  regretted  for  that?  By  no 
other  course  could  the  honor  of  Athens  have  been  saved.  This  point 
is  handled  with  remarkable  ability.] 


*  Demosthenes  had  been  accused  of  receiving  a  bribe  from  a  Persian 
refugee. 

I.  30 


350  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.     [Demosthenes 

As,  however,  he  bears  so  hardly  upon  the  results,  I  am 
ready  to  make  a  statement  which  may  sound  startling.  I 
ask  every  man,  as  he  fears  Zeus  and  the  gods,  not  to  be 
shocked  at  my  paradox  until  he  has  calmly  considered  my 
meaning.  I  say  that,  if  the  event  had  been  manifest  to  the 
whole  world  beforehand,  if  all  men  had  been  fully  aware 
of  it,  if  you,  ^schines,  who  never  opened  your  lips,  had 
been  ever  so  loud  or  so  shrill  in  prophecy  or  in  protest,  not 
even  then  ought  Athens  to  have  forsaken  this  course,  if 
Athens  had  any  regard  for  her  glory,  or  for  her  past,  or 
for  the  ages  to  come.  Now,  of  course,  she  seems  to  have 
failed ;  but  failure  is  for  all  men  when  heaven  so  decrees. 
In  the  other  case,  she,  who  claims  the  first  place  in  Greece, 
would  have  renounced  it,  and  would  have  incurred  the 
reproach  of  having  betrayed  all  Greece  to  Philip.  If  she 
had  indeed  betrayed  without  a  blow  those  things  for  which 
our  ancestors  endured  every  imaginable  danger,  who  would 
not  have  spurned,  /Eschines,  at  you  ?  Not  at  Athens, — the 
gods  forbid ! — nor  at  me.  In  the  name  of  Zeus,  how  could 
we  have  looked  visitors  in  the  face  if,  things  having  come 
to  their  present  pass, — Philip  having  been  elected  leader 
and  lord  of  all, — the  struggle  against  it  had  been  sustained 
by  others  without  our  help,  and  this,  though  never  once 
in  her  past  history  our  city  had  preferred  inglorious  safety 
to  the  perilous  vindication  of  honor  ?  What  Greek,  what 
barbarian,  does  not  know  that  the  Thebans,  and  their 
predecessors  in  power,  the  Lacedaemonians,  and  the  Persian 
king,  would  have  been  glad  and  thankful  to  let  Athens 
take  anything  that  she  liked,  besides  keeping  what  she  had 
got,  if  she  would  only  have  done  what  she  was  told,  and 
allowed  some  other  Power  to  lead  Greece  ?  Such  a  bargain, 
however,  was  for  the  Athenians  of  those  days  neither  tra- 
ditional nor  congenial  nor  supportable.  In  the  whole  course 
of  her  annals,  no  one  could  ever  persuade  Athens  to  side 


Demosthenes]    THE  ORATION  'TOR  THE  CROWN."       351 

with  dishonest  strength,  to  accept  a  secure  slavery,  or  to 
desist,  at  any  moment  in  her  career,  from  doing  battle  and 
braving  danger  for  pre-eminence,  for  honor,  and  for  renown. 

You,  Athenians,  find  these  principles  so  worthy  of  ven- 
eration, so  accordant  with  your  own  character,  that  you 
praise  none  of  your  ancestors  so  highly  as  those  who  put 
them  into  action.  You  are  right.  Who  must  not  admire 
the  spirit  of  men  who  were  content  to  quit  their  country, 
and  to  exchange  their  city  for  their  triremes,  in  the  cause 
of  resistance  to  dictation  ?  who  put  Themistokles,  the  author 
of  this  course,  at  their  head,  while  as  for  Kyrsilos,  the  man 
who  gave  his  voice  for  accepting  the  enemy's  terms,  they 
stoned  him  to  death,  yes,  and  his  wife  was  stoned  by  the 
women  of  Athens?  The  Athenians  of  those  days  were 
not  in  search  of  an  orator  or  a  general  who  should  help 
them  to  an  agreeable  servitude.  No.  They  would  not 
hear  of  life  itself  if  they  were  not  to  live  free.  Each  one 
of  them  held  that  he  had  been  born  the  son  not  only  of 
his  father  and  his  mother,  but  of  his  country  also.  And 
wherein  is  the  difference  ?  It  is  here.  He  that  recognizes 
no  debt  of  piety  save  to  his  parents  awaits  his  death  in 
the  course  of  destiny  and  of  nature.  But  he  that  deems 
himself  the  son  of  his  country  also  will  be  ready  to  die 
sooner  than  see  her  enslaved.  In  his  estimate  those  insults, 
those  dishonors,  which  must  be  suffered  in  his  city  when 
she  has  lost  her  freedom,  will  be  accounted  more  terrible 
than  death. 

If  I  presume  to  say  that  it  was  I  who  thus  inspired  you 
with  a  spirit  worthy  of  your  ancestors,  there  is  not  a  man 
present  who  might  not  properly  rebuke  me.  What  I  do 
maintain  is  that  those  principles  of  conduct  were  your 
own ;  that  this  spirit  existed  in  the  city  before  my  inter- 
vention, but  that  in  the  successive  chapters  of  events  I 
had  my  share  of  merit  as  your  servant,     ^schines,  on  the 


352  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.     [Demosthenes 

contrary,  denounces  our  policy  as  a  whole,  invokes  your 
resentment  against  me  as  the  author  of  the  city's  terrors 
and  dangers,  and,  in  his  anxiety  to  wrest  from  me  the  dis- 
tinction of  the  hour,  robs  you  of  glories  which  will  be 
celebrated  as  long  as  time  endures.  For  if  you  condemn 
Ktesiphon  on  the  ground  that  my  public  course  was  misdi- 
rected, then  you  will  be  adjudged  guilty  of  error:  you  will 
no  longer  appear  as  sufferers  by  the  perversity  of  fortune. 
But  never,  Athenians,  never  can  it  be  said  that  you  erred 
when  you  took  upon  you  that  peril  for  the  freedom  and  the 
safety  of  all !  No,  by  our  fathers  who  met  the  danger  at 
Marathon !  no,  by  our  fathers  who  stood  in  the  ranks  at 
Platsea !  no,  by  our  fathers  who  did  battle  on  the  waters 
of  Salamis  and  Artemision !  no,  by  all  the  brave  who  sleep 
in  tombs  at  which  their  country  paid  those  last  honors 
which  she  had  awarded,  ^schines,  to  all  of  them  alike, 
not  alone  to  the  successful  or  the  victorious!  And  her 
award  was  just.  The  part  of  brave  men  had  been  done 
by  all.  The  fortune  exj)erieneed  by  the  individual  among 
them  had  been  allotted  by  a  Power  above  man. 

[We  may  follow  this  effective  outburst  of  eloquence  by  a  crushing 
arraignment  of  ^schines,  who  had  excused  himself  for  speaking  but 
seldom,  and  accused  his  adversary,  in  the  following  pithy  sentences,  of 
confining  himself  to  words  while  others  were  proving  their  patriotism 
by  deeds  :  "  Yet  when  a  man  made  up  altogether  of  words — bitter  and 
superfluously  elaborate  words — comes  back  to  the  simplicity  of  facts, 
who  can  tolerate  it  ? — a  man  whose  tongue,  like  that  of  the  flageolet, 
if  you  remove,  the  rest  is  nothing."  "We  give  Owgan's  version  of  the 
answer  of  Demosthenes  to  this  attack.] 

There  is  indeed,  there  is  a  silence  that  is  sincere  and 
serviceable  to  the  state,  such  as  you,  the  body  of  the  citi- 
zens, innocently  maintain.  Such,  however,  is  not  the 
silence  which  he  maintains ;  far  from  it ;  but,  abandoning 
the  public  service  when  he  chooses, — and  he  often  does  so 


Demosthenes]    THE  ORATION  ''FOR   THE  CROWN."       353 

choose, — he  watches  the  moment  when  you  are  tired  of 
a  constant  speaker,  or  some  reverse  of  fortune  happens, 
or  some  other  untoward  event  occurs, — and  many  such 
are  incident  to  humanity,  —  and  then,  on  that  opportu- 
nity, the  orator  suddenly  springs  up  from  his  silence  like 
a  storm,  and  after  preparatory  declamation,  and  a  making 
up  of  phrases  and  ai-guments,  he  delivers  these  with  pre- 
cision and  fluency,  though  producing  no  benefit  nor  the 
certainty  of  any  advantage,  but  ruin  to  the  average  of 
citizens,  and  national  disgrace. 

And  yet,  iEschines,  of  all  this  diligence  and  preparation, 
if  it  proceeded  from  an  upright  heart,  whose  object  was 
the  good  of  his  country,  the  fruits  should  be  noble  and 
creditable  and  universally  beneficial ;  such  as  the  alliances 
of  cities,  the  raising  of  subsidies,,  the  establishment  of 
trade,  the  passing  of  salutary  laws,  and  opposition  to  our 
declared  enemies.  For  in  past  years  all  these  were  in 
request,  and  the  time  gone  by  off'ered  many  openings  to 
an  honorable  man,  in  which  you  will  be  found  to  have 
been  neither  first,  nor  second,  nor  third,  nor  fourth,  nor 
fifth,  nor  sixth,  nor  anywhere ;  never,  of  course,  where 
your  country  would  have  been  advanced. 

What  alliance,  by  your  agency,  has  been  secured  for  the 
city?  what  service  by  which  the  city  became  more  re- 
spected ?  What  domestic,  or  Grecian,  or  foreign  relation, 
directed  by  you,  has  been  successfully  conducted?  what 
fleets  ?  what  armories  ?  what  arsenals  ?  what  construction 
of  walls  ?  what  cavalry  ?  Where  have  you  been  useful  in 
anything  ?  What  public  or  national  pecuniary  relief  has 
been  afforded  by  you,  either  to  rich  or  poor  ?  None !  But 
then,  sir,  if  there  be  none  of  this,  there  is  at  least  loyalty 
and  zeal?  Where?  When? — Thou  most  disgraced  of 
men? — who  not  even  when  all  that  ever  spoke  on  the 
platform  contributed  for  our  safety,  and  at  last  Aristoni- 
i.—x  30* 


354  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Demosthenes 

cus  contributed  the  money  collected  for  his  enfranchise- 
ment— who  did  not  even  then  come  forward,  nor  bestow 
anything.  Not,  indeed,  through  want.  How  could  it  be  ? 
for  you  inherited  more  than  five  talents  from  Philo,  your 
relative.  That  it  was  not  from  want  of  means,  therefore, 
that  you  did  not  contribute,  but  from  an  anxiety  that  no 
obstruction  should  be  made  on  your  part  to  that  party 
whom  you  serve  politically,  is  evident  from  these  facts. 

Wherein,  then,  have  you  been  active,  or  when  distin- 
guished ?  Whenever  it  was  necessary  to  speak  against  this 
people,  there  you  were  most  melodiously  clamorous,  most 
retentive  in  memory,  a  consummate  actor,  a  Theokrines 
of  the  stage ! 

[In  the  peroration  of  this  great  speech  Demosthenes  displays  nothing 
of  the  weakness  of  that  of  his  competitor.  In  a  storm  of  accusation 
and  appeal  he  rouses  the  feelings  of  his  hearers  to  the  highest  point 
of  emotion,  and  there  leaves  them,  without  heed  to  the  Attic  rule  of 
oratory,  that  a  calm  must  follow  the  storm,  harmony  smooth  down  the 
stirred-up  waves  of  feeling.] 

Here  is  the  proof.  Xot  when  my  extradition  was  de- 
manded, not  when  they  sought  to  arraign  me  before  the 
Amphictyonic  Council,  not  for  all  their  menaces  or  their 
offers,  not  when  they  set  these  villains  like  wild  beasts 
upon  me,  have  I  ever  been  untrue  to  the  loyalty  I  bear 
you.  From  the  outset,  I  chose  the  path  of  a  straightfor- 
ward and  righteous  statesmanship,  to  cherish  the  dignities, 
the  prerogatives,  the  glories,  of  my  country ;  to  exalt  them ; 
to  stand  by  their  cause.  I  do  not  go  about  the  market- 
place radiant  with  joy  at  my  country's  disasters,  holding 
out  my  hand  and  telling  my  good  news  to  any  one  who  I 
think  is  likely  to  report  it  in  Macedon ;  I  do  not  hear  of 
my  country's  successes  with  a  shudder  and  a  groan  and  a 
head  bent  to  earth,  like  the  bad  men  who  pull  Athens  to 


Euripides]      SCENE  FROM  THE  ''ORESTES."  355 

pieces,  as  if  in  so  doing  they  were  not  tearing  their  own 
reputation  to  shreds,  who  turn  their  faces  to  foreign  lands, 
and,  when  an  alien  has  triumphed  by  the  ruin  of  the 
Greeks,  give  their  praises  to  that  exploit,  and  vow  that 
vigilance  must  be  used  to  render  that  triumph  eternal. 

Never,  Powers  of  Heaven,  may  any  brow  of  the  Im- 
mortals be  bent  in  approval  of  that  prayer!  Eather,  if 
it  may  be,  breathe  even  into  these  men  a  better  mind  and 
heart ;  but  if  so  it  is  that  to  these  can  come  no  healing, 
then  grant  that  these,  and  these  alone,  may  perish  ut- 
terly and  early  on  land  and  on  the  deep ;  and  to  us,  the 
remnant,  send  the  swiftest  deliverance  from  the  terrors 
gathered  above  our  heads,  send  us  the  salvation  that  stands 
fast  perpetually. 


SCENE  FROM  THE  "ORESTES." 

EURIPIDES. 

[This  famous  dramatist  was  born  on  the  island  of  Salamis,  at  ahout 
the  time  of  the  great  sea-hattle  which  destroyed  the  Persian  fleet  and 
made  the  name  of  the  island  immortal.  He  was  first  trained  as  a 
gymnast,  hut,  failing  in  this,  he  tried  other  arts,  and  finally  came 
forward  as  a  candidate  for  the  tragic  crown,  in  the  veiy  year  in  which 
^schylus,  the  first  famous  tragic  poet  of  Greece,  died.  In  his  old  age 
Euripides  left  Athens,  and  retired  to  Pella,  the  capital  of  Macedonia. 
There  he  died  in  his  seventy-fifth  year.  It  is  fabled  that  he  was  torn  to 
pieces  by  mastiffs,  set  upon  him  by  two  rival  poets. 

In  the  day  of  Euripides  the  belief  of  the  Greeks  in  their  mythologic 
gods  had  greatly  declined,  and  philosophic  doubts  were  common.  This 
state  of  feeling  among  the  learned  is  strongly  shown  in  his  plays,  which, 
instead  of  displaying  the  imquestioning  faith  and  the  devotion  to  the 
gods  of  ^schylus,  are  full  of  heretical  expressions.     Their  great  popu- 


356  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Euripides 

larity  was  largely  due  to  their  naturalness,  their  elegance  of  language, 
and  the  unrivalled  sweetness  and  beauty  of  their  lyrical  portions.  Their 
talk  was  not  that  of  the  superhuman  heroes  of  ^schylus,  nor  of  the 
ideal  men  and  women  of  Sophocles,  hut  of  living  Athenians.  They 
were  essentially  plays  of  the  passions,  and,  while  dealing  with  the 
mythological  tales  so  familiar  to  Greek  audiences,  did  so  from  a  mod- 
ernized stand-point.  Of  the  plays  of  Euripides  we  possess  seventeen 
complete,  with  fragments  of  others.  We  quote  from  Potter's  trans- 
lation of  the  "  Orestes"  the  following  dramatically  effective  scene. — 
Orestes  is  pursued  by  the  Furies,  in  punishment  for  the  murder  of  his 
mother  Clytemnestra.  While  he  sleeps,  his  sister  Electra  watches  over 
him,  and  the  Chorus  approach.] 

Elect.  Softly,  softly,  fall  the  sound 
Of  thy  footsteps  on  the  ground  1 
Gently,  gently,  like  the  breath 
Of  a  lute-song  in  its  death  ; 
Like  the  sighing  of  a  reed, 
Faintly  murmuring  to  be  freed, 
So  softly  let  thy  whispers  flow. 

Chorus.  Like  a  reed,  as  soft  and  low. 

Elect.  Ay,  low,  low !  but  tell  me  why, 
Damsels,  ye  are  lingering  by  ? 
Long  has  sorrow  torn  his  breast ; 
Now  his  weary  eyes  have  rest. 

Ch.  How  fares  it  with  him  ?  dearest,  say. 

Elect.  Sad  and  tearful  is  my  lay. 
Breathing  on  his  couch  he  lieth. 
Still  he  suffereth,  still  he  sigheth. 

Ch.  What  say'st  thou,  mourner  ? 

Elect.  Woe  to  thee, 

If  the  dewy  slumber  flee ! 

Ch.  Yet  wail  I  his  unhajipy  state; 
Abhorred  deeds  of  deadly  hate, 
Eage  of  vindictive,  torturing  woes. 
Which  the  relentless  powers  of  heaven  impose. 


EuRiPiBEs]      SCENE  FROM   THE   "ORESTES."  357 

Elect.  Unjust,  unjust  the  stern  command, 
The  stern  command  Apollo  gave 
From  Themis'  seat,  his  ruthless  hand 
In  blood,  in  mother's  blood,  to  lave. 

Ch.  He  stirs,  he  moves  his  covering  vest. 

Elect.  Wretch,  thy  voice  has  broke  his  rest. 

Ch.  And  yet,  I  think,  sleep  locks  his  eye. 

Elect.  Wilt  thou  begone  ?     Hence  wilt  thou  fly, 
That  quiet  here  again  may  dwell  ? 

Ch.  Hush,  hush  !  he  sleeps  again 

Elect.  'Tis  well. 

Ch.  Awful  queen,  whose  gentle  power 
Brings  sweet  oblivion  of  our  woes, 
And  in  the  calm  and  silent  hour. 
Distils  the  blessings  of  repose, — 
Come,  awful  Night ! 

Elect.  Softly  let  your  warblings  flow  ; 
Farther,  a  farther  distance  keep  : 
The  far-off  cadence,  sweet  and  low, 
Charms  his  repose,  and  aids  his  sleep. 

Ch.  Tell  us  what  end 
Awaits  his  miseries  ? 

Elect.  Death  !  that  end  I  fear. 
He  tastes  no  food. 

Ch.  Death  then  indeed  is  near. 

Elect.  When  Phoebus  gave  the  dire  command 
To  bathe  in  mother's  blood  his  hand. 
By  whom  the  father  sank  in  dust, 
He  doomed  us  victims. 

Ch.  Dire  these  deeds,  but  just. 

Orest.  {loaking).  O  gentle  sleep,  whose  lenient  power  thus 
soothes 
Disease  and  pain,  how  sweet  thy  visit  to  me, 
Who  wanted  thy  soft  aid !     Blessing  divine, 


358  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Euripides 

That  to  the  wretched  givest  wished  repose. 

Steeping  their  senses  in  forgetfulness. 

Where  have  I  been  ?    \Yhere  am  I  ?    How  brought  hither  ? 

My  late  distraction  blots  remembrance  out. 

Elect.  What  heart-felt  joy  to  see  thee  thus  composed! 
Wilt  thou  I  touch  thee  ?     Shall  I  raise  thee  up  ? 

Orest.  Assist  me,  then,  assist  me ;  from  my  mouth 
Wipe  off  the  clotted  foam ;  wipe  my  moist  eyes. 

Elect.  Delightful  office,  for  a  sister's  hand 
To  minister  relief  to  a  sick  brother ! 

Orest.  Lie  by  my  side,  and  from  my  face  remove 
These  squalid  locks :  they  blind  my  darkened  eyes. 

Elect.  How  tangled  are  the  ringlets  of  thy  hair! 

Orest.  Pray,  lay  me  down  again ;  when  this  ill  frenzy 
Leaves  me,  I  am  feeble,  very  faint. 

Elect.  There,  there  ;  the  bed  is  grateful  to  the  sick. 

Orest.  Eaise   me   again,   more   upright;    bend   me   for- 
ward. 

Ch.  The  sick  are  wayward  through  their  restlessness. 

Elect.  Or  wilt  thou  try  with  slow  steps  on  the  ground 
To  fix  thy  feet  ?     Variety  is  sweet. 

Orest.  Most  willingly  ;  it  hath  the  show  of  health  : 
The  seemino;  hath  some  good,  though  void  of  truth. 

Elect.  Now,  my  loved  brother,  hear  me  while  the  Furies 
Permit  thy  sense  thus  clear  and  undisturbed. 

Orest.  Hast  thou  aught  new?     If  good,  I  thank  thee 
for  it ; 
If  ill,  I  have  enough  of  ill  already. 

Elect.  Thy  father's  brother,  Menelaus,  arrives ; 
His  fleet  lies  anchored  in  the  Nauplian  bay. 

Orest.  Comes  he,  then  ?     Light  on  our  afflictions  dawns ; 
Much  to  my  father's  kindness  doth  he  owe. 

Elect.  He  comes;  and,  to  confirm  what  now  I  say, 
Brings  Helena  from  Ilium's  ruined  walls. 


Euripides]      SCENE  FROM  THE   '-'ORESTES."  359 

0?'est.  More  to  be  envied  were  he  saved  alone ; 
Bringing  his  wife,  he  brings  a  mighty  ill. 

Meet.  The  female  race  of  Tyndarus  was  born 
To  deep  disgrace,  and  infamous  through  Greece. 

Orest.  Be  thou  unlike  them,  then;  'tis  in  thy  power; 
And  further  than  in  words  thy  virtue  prove. 

Elect.  Alas,  my  brother,  wildly  rolls  thine  eye  : 
So  quickly  changed !     The  frantic  fit  returns. 

Orest.  Ah,  mother  !  do  not  set  thj'  furies  on  me ! 
See  how  their  fiery  eyeballs  glai-e  in  blood, 
And  wreathing  snakes  hiss  in  their  horrid  hair ! 
There,  there  they  stand,  ready  to  leap  upon  me ! 

Elect.  Eest  thee,  poor  brother,  rest  upon  thy  bed  : 
Thou  seest  them  not ;  'tis  fancy  coinage  all. 

Orest.  O  Phoebus,  they  will  kill  me  !  these  dire  forms, 
These  (jora;on-visagcd  ministers  of  hell ! 

Elect.  Thus  will  I  hold  thee,  round  thee  throw  my  arms, 
And  check  the  unhappy  force  of  thy  wild  starts. 

Orest.  Off!     Let  me  go!     I  know  thee  who  thou  art, — 
One  of  the  Furies, — and  thou  grapplest  with  me. 
To  whirl  me  into  Tartarus.     Avaunt ! 

Elect.  What  shall  I  do  ?     Ah  me !  where  shall  I  seek 
Assistance,  since  the  once  friendly  god  frowns  on  us  ? 

Orest.  Bring  me  the  bow  and  horn  which  Phoebus  gave 
me, 
And  with  it  bade  me  drive  these  fiends  away, 
Should  they  affright  me  with  their  maddening  terrors. 

Elect.  Can  any  god  by  mortal  hands  be  wounded  ? 

Orest.  Should  she  not  instant  vanish  from  my  sight — 
Heard  you  the  clang ;  saw  you  the  winged  shaft 
Bound  from  the  distant-wounding  bow  ?     Ha,  ha ! 
Hear  yet!     On  swift  wings  mount  the  ethereal  air, 
And  there  impeach  the  oracle  of  Phoebus  ! — 
Whence  this  disquiet  ?     Why  thus  pants  my  breath  ? 


360  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Euripides 

Ah,  whither  have  I  wandered  from  my  bed  ? 

Why  dost  thou  weep,  my  sister  ?     Why  decline 

Thy  drooping  head  and  hide  it  in  thy  vest  ? 

I  blush  to  give  thee  part  in  my  disease, 

And  wound  with  grief  thy  virgin  tenderness. 

Let  not  my  life  be  thus  infectious  to  thee ; 

Thou  barely  didst  assent :  I  did  the  deed ; 

I  shed  her  blood.     But  Phoebus  I  must  name 

Who  urged  me  to  this  most  unholy  a('t ; 

Then,  save  with  soothing  words,  assist  me  not. 

Had  these  eyes  seen  my  father,  had  I  asked  hira 

In  duty  if  I  ought  to  slay  my  mother, 

I  think  he  would  have  prayed  me  not  to  plunge 

My  murdering  sword  in  her  who  gave  me  birth, 

Since  he  could  not  revisit  heaven's  sweet  light, 

And  I  must  suffer  all  these  miseries. 

But  now  unveil  thy  face  and  dry  thy  tears. 

My  sister,  though  afflictions  press  us  sore  ; 

And  when  thou  seest  me  in  these  fitful  moods, 

Soothe  my  disordered  sense,  and  let  thy  voice 

Speak  peace  to  my  distraction ;  when  the  sigh 

Swells  in  thy  bosom,  'tis  a  brother's  part 

With  tender  sympathies  to  calm  thy  griefs ; 

These  are  the  blessed  offices  of  friends. — 

But  to  thy  chamber  go,  afflicted  maid. 

There  seek  repose,  close  thy  long-sleepless  eyes. 

With  food  refresh  thee,  and  the  enlivening  bath. 

Shouldst  thou  forsake  me,  or  with  too  close  tendance 

Impair  thy  delicate  and  tender  health. 

Then  were  I  lost  indeed ;  for  thou  alone. 

Abandoned  as  I  am,  art  all  my  comfort. 

Elect.  Should  I  forsake  thee  !     No ;  my  choice  is  fixed ; 
And  I  will  die  with  thee,  or  with  thee  live. 


POLYBIUS]         THE  DEFENCE   OF  SYRACUSE.  361 


THE  DEFENCE  OF  SYRACUSE  BY  ARCHIMEDES. 

POLYBIUS. 

Of  the  later  Greek  historians,  Polybius — born  about  204  B.C.,  at 
Megalopolis,  in  Arcadia — was  much  the  most  meritorious.  He  was 
thoroughly  instructed  in  politics  and  the  science  of  war  by  his  father, 
a  general  of  the  Acha?an  League,  and  became  himself  so  influential 
that  he  was  taken,  with  others,  as  a  hostage  to  Kome,  and  held  in  Italy 
for  seventeen  years.  At  Kome  he  gained  the  friendship  of  Scipio,  whom 
he  accompanied  in  his  African  campaign,  and  was  present  at  the 
taking  of  Carthage.  Polybius  died  in  his  eighty-second  year,  after 
rendering  valuable  services  to  his  native  country. 

The  principal  subjects  of  his  great  historical  work  are  the  Second 
Punic  War  and  the  Social  War  with  Greece,  in  the  preparation  of 
which  he  was  given  free  access  to  the  public  documents  of  Eome.  As 
an  historian  he  ranks  high  among  ancient  authors,  the  merit  of  his 
work  lying  in  its  unity  of  plan  and  well-defined  purpose,  the  love  of 
truth  and  the  sound  judgment  of  the  author,  his  knowledge  of  political 
and  military  afiairs,  and  the  care  with  which  he  has  collected  his 
material.  But  as  a  literary  production  it  is  marred  by  such  serious 
faults  that  it  is  little  read.  The  author  was  devoid  of  imagination, 
and  paid  no  attention  to  style,  his  rhetoric  being  careless,  his  sentences 
slipshod,  and  his  dialect  the  corrupt  Greek  of  his  time.  Much  the  most 
attractive  portion  of  the  work  consists  in  its  descriptions  of  military 
movements  and  battles.  We  select,  from  Hampton's  translation, 
the  account  of  the  siege  of  Syracuse  by  the  Eomans,  in  which  the 
remarkable  defensive  mechanical  devices  of  Archimedes  are  clearly 
delineated.] 

The  consul  Appius,  having  taken  upon  himself  the  com- 
mand of  the  land-forces,  and  stationed  the  army  round  the 
Scythian  portico,  from  whence  the  wall  was  continued 
alonff  the  shore  even  to  the  mole  of  the  harbor,  resolved 
to  make  his  approaches  on  that  side.  As  the  number  of 
his  artificers  was  very  great,  he  prepared,  in  five  days  only, 
I— Q  31 


362  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Polybius 

a  sufficient  quantity  of  blinds  and  darts,  with  everything 
besides  that  was  proper  for  the  siege,  and  was  persuaded 
that  by  this  celerity  he  should  be  able  to  attack  the  enemy 
before  they  had  made  the  necessary  preparations  for  their 
defence.  He  had  not  at  that  time  made  due  reflection  upon 
the  great  skill  of  Archimedes,  nor  considered  that  the  mind 
of  a  single  man  is,  on  some  occasions,  far  superior  to  the 
force  of  many  hands.  But  this  truth  was  soon  discovered 
to  him  by  the  event.  For  Syracuse  was  in  itself  a  place  of 
very  great  strength, — the  wall  that  surrounded  it  being 
built  upon  lofty  hills,  whose  tops  hanging  over  the  plains 
rendered  all  approach  from  without,  except  in  certain  parts, 
extremely  difiicult.  .  .  . 

So  great  a  quantity  of  instruments  of  defence  had  been 
contrived  by  the  person  just  now  mentioned,  that  the  be- 
sieged were  at  no  time  idle,  but  were  ready  at  every  new 
attack  to  meet  the  motions  and  repel  the  efforts  of  the 
enemy.  Appius,  however,  advancing  with  his  blinds  and 
ladders,  endeavored  to  approach  that  part  of  the  wall 
which  was  joined  to  the  Hexapylum,  on  the  eastern  side 
of  the  city.  At  the  same  time  Marcellus  directed  his 
course  towards  Achradina,  with  a  fleet  of  sixty  quinque- 
remes  [vessels  with  five  ranks  of  rowers],  all  filled  with 
soldiers  who  were  armed  with  bows,  slings,  and  javelins, 
in  order  to  drive  the  enemy  from  the  walls.  There  were 
also  eight  other  quinqueremes,  from  one  side  of  which  the 
benches  of  the  rowers  had  been  removed, — from  the  right 
side  of  some  and  from  the  left  side  of  others.  These  ves- 
sels, being  joined  two  and  two  together  on  the  sides  from 
which  the  benches  had  been  taken,  Avere  rowed  by  the 
oars  on  the  opposite  sides,  and  carried  to  the  walls  certain 
machines  called  sackbuts,  the  construction  and  use  of 
which  may  be  thus  described. 

A  ladder  is  made  which  has  four  feet  in  breadth,  and 


PoLYBius]         THE  DEFENCE  OF  SYRACUSE.  363 

such  a  length  as,  when  raised,  shall  make  it  equal  to  the 
height  of  the  walls.  On  either  side  of  it  is  a  high  breast- 
work in  the  form  of  a  balustrade.  This  ladder  is  laid  at 
length  upon  the  sides  in  which  the  two  vessels  are  joined, 
but  extending  far  beyond  the  prows ;  and  at  the  top  of 
the  masts  of  the  vessel  are  fixed  pulleys  and  ropes.  At 
the  proper  time  the  ropes  are  fastened  to  the  top  of  the 
machine ;  and  while  some,  standing  on  the  stern  of  the 
vessels,  draw  the  ladder  upwards  by  the  pulleys,  others  on 
the  prow  at  the  same  time  assist  in  raising  it  with  bars 
and  levers.  The  vessel  being  then  rowed  near  to  the 
shore,  endeavors  are  made  to  fix  the  machine  against  the 
walls.  At  the  top  of  the  ladder  is  a  little  stage,  guarded 
on  three  sides  with  blinds,  and  containing  four  men  upon 
it,  who  engage  with  those  upon  the  walls  who  attempt  to 
prevent  the  fixing  of  the  machine.  "When  the  machine  is 
fixed,  these  men,  being  now  raised  above  the  top  of  the 
wall,  throw  down  the  blinds  on  either  side,  and  advance 
to  attack  the  battlements  and  towers.  The  rest  at  the 
same  time  ascend  the  ladder,  without  any  fear  that  it 
should  fall,  because  it  is  strongly  fastened  with  ropes  to 
the  two  vessels.  The  name  of  sackbut  is  not  improperly 
bestowed  upon  this  machine;  for,  when  it  is  raised,  the 
appearance  of  the  ladder  and  the  vessels,  joined  thus  to- 
gether, very  much  resembles  the  figure  of  that  instrument. 
In  this  manner,  then,  when  all  things  were  ready,  the 
Eomans  designed  to  attack  the  towers.  But  Archimedes 
had  prepared  machines  that  were  fitted  to  every  distance. 
While  the  vessels  were  yet  far  removed  from  the  walls, 
employing  cataj^ults  and  balistte  that  were  of  the  largest 
size  and  worked  by  the  strongest  springs,  he  wounded  the 
enemy  with  his  darts  and  stones,  and  threw  them  into 
great  disorder.  When  the  darts  passed  beyond  them,  he 
then  used  other  machines,  of  a  smaller  size,  and  propor- 


364  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Polybius 

tioned  to  the  distance.  By  these  means  the  Eomans  were 
so  effectually  repulsed  that  it  was  not  possible  for  them  to 
approach.  jMarcellus,  therefore,  perplexed  with  this  resist- 
ance, was  forced  to  advance  silently  with  his  vessels  in  the 
night.  But  when  they  came  so  near  to  the  land  as  to  be 
within  the  reach  of  darts,  they  were  exposed  to  a  new 
danger,  which  Archimedes  had  contrived.  He  had  caused 
openings  to  be  made  in  many  parts  of  the  wall,  equal  in 
height  to  the  stature  of  a  man,  and  to  the  palm  of  the 
hand  in  breadth.  Then,  having  planted  on  the  inside 
archers  and  little  scorpions,  he  discharged  a  multitude 
of  arrows  through  the  openings,  and  disabled  the  soldiers 
that  were  on  board.  In  this  manner,  whether  the  Eomans 
were  at  a  great  distance  or  whether  they  were  near,  he 
not  only  rendered  useless  all  their  efforts,  but  destroyed 
also  many  of  their  men.  "When  they  attempted  also  to 
raise  the  sackbuts,  certain  machines  which  he  had  erected 
along  the  whole  wall  inside,  and  which  were  before  con- 
cealed from  view,  suddenly  appeared  above  the  wall  and 
stretched  their  long  beaks  far  beyond  the  battlements. 
Some  of  these  machines  carried  masses  of  lead  and  stone 
not  less  than  ten  talents  [about  eight  hundred  pounds]  in 
weight.  Accordingly,  when  the  vessels  with  the  sackbuts 
came  near,  the  beaks,  being  first  tm-ned  by  ropes  and  pul- 
leys to  the  proper  point,  let  fall  their  stones,  which  broke 
not  only  the  sackbuts  but  the  vessels  likewise,  and  threw 
all  those  who  were  on  board  into  the  greatest  danger.  In 
the  same  manner  also  the  rest  of  the  machines,  as  often  as 
the  enemy  approached  under  cover  of  their  blinds  and 
had  secured  themselves  by  that  protection  against  the 
darts  that  were  discharged  through  the  openings  in  the 
wall,  let  fall  upon  them  stones  of  so  large  a  size  that  all 
the  combatants  on  the  prow  were  forced  to  retire  from 
their  station. 


PoLYBius]         THE  DEFENCE  OF  SYRACUSE.  365 

He  invented,  likewise,  a  hand  of  iron,  hanging  by  a 
chain  from  the  beak  of  a  machine,  which  was  used  in  the 
following  manner.  The  person  who,  like  a  pilot,  guided 
the  beak,  having  let  fall  the  hand  and  caught  hold  of  the 
prow  of  any  vessel,  drew  down  the  opposite  end  of  the 
machine,  that  was  inside  of  the  walls.  When  the  vessel 
was  thus  raised  erect  upon  its  stern,  the  machine  itself 
was  held  immovable ;  but  the  chain  being  suddenly 
loosened  from  the  beak  by  means  of  pulleys,  some  of 
the  vessels  were  thrown  upon  their  sides,  others  turned 
with  their  bottoms  upward,  and  the  greatest  part,  as  the 
prows  were  plunged  from  a  considerable  height  into  the 
sea,  were  filled  with  water,  and  all  that  were  on  board 
thrown  into  tumult  and  disoi-der. 

Marcellus  was  in  no  small  degree  embarrassed  when  he 
found  himself  encountered  in  every  attempt  by  such  resist- 
ance. He  perceived  that  all  his  efforts  were  defeated  with 
loss,  and  were  even  derided  by  the  enemy.  But,  amidst 
all  the  anxiety  that  he  suffered,  he  could  not  help  jesting 
upon  the  inventions  of  Archimedes.  "  This  man,"  says  he, 
"  employs  our  ships  as  buckets  to  draw  water,  and,  boxing 
about  our  sackbuts,  as  if  they  were  unworthy  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  him,  drives  them  from  his  company  with  dis- 
grace." Such  was  the  success  of  the  siege  on  the  side  of 
the  sea. 

Appius  also,  on  his  part,  having  met  Avith  the  same  ob- 
stacles in  his  approaches,  was  in  like  manner  forced  to 
abandon  his  design.  For,  while  he  was  yet  at  a  consider- 
able distance,  great  numbers  of  his  men  were  destroyed  by 
the  balistae  and  the  catapults,  so  wonderful  was  the  quan- 
tity of  stones  and  darts,  and  so  astonishing  the  force  with 
which  they  were  thrown.  The  means,  indeed,  were  worthy 
of  Hiero,  who  had  furnished  the  expense,  and  of  Archi- 
medes, who  designed  them,  and  by  whose  dii'ections  they 
I.  31* 


3G6  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Polybius 

were  made.     If  the  troops  advanced  nearer  to  the  city, 
they  either  were  stopped  in  their  approach  by  the  arrows 
that  were  discharged  through  the  openings  in  the  walls,  or, 
if  they  attempted  to  force  their  way  under  cover  of  their 
bucklers,  they  were  destroyed  by  stones  and  beams  that 
were  let  fall  upon  their  heads.     Great  mischief  also  was 
occasioned  by  those  hands  of  iron  that  have  been  men- 
tioned ;  for  they  lifted  men  with  their  armor  into  the  air 
and  dashed  them  upon  the  ground.     Appius  therefore  was 
at  last  constrained  to  return  back  again  into  his  camp. 
Here,  when  he  had  held  a  consultation  with  the  tribunes, 
it  was,  with  one  consent,  determined  by  them  that  every 
other  method  should  be  tried  to  obtain  possession  of  Syra- 
cuse, but  that  they  would  no  more  attempt  to  take  it  by 
assault.     Nor  did  they  afterwards  depart  from  this  resolu- 
tion ;  for,  though  they  remained  eight  months  before  the 
city,  and  during  that  time  invented  various  stratagems  and 
carried  into  execution  many  bold  designs,  they  never  had 
courage  to  attack  the  place  in  the  regular  forms.     So  won- 
derful, and  of  such  importance  on  some  occasions,  is  the 
power  of  a  single  man,  and  the  force  of  science  properly 
employed.    With  so  great  armies  both  by  land  and  sea,  the 
Eomans  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  take  the  city,  if  one 
old  man  had  been  removed.     But  Avhile  he  is  present  they 
do  not  even  dare  to  make  the  attempt,  in  the  manner,  at 
least,  Avhich  Archimedes  was  able  to  ojopose.     Being  per- 
suaded,  therefore,  that  as  the  city  was  crowded  with  in- 
habitants it  might  at  last  be  most  easily  reduced  by  famine, 
they  resolved  to  have  recourse  to  this  as  their  only  hope, 
and  to  intercept  by  their  fleet  the  provisions  that  should 
be  brought  by  sea,  while  the  army  cut  off  all  approach  on 
the  side  of  the  land.     And,  that  the  time  employed  in  the 
siege  might  not  pass  wholly  without   action,  but  be  at- 
tended with  advantage  in  some  other  place,  the  consuls 


AroLLONius]  JASON  AND   MEDEA.  367 

divided  the  army.  And  thus,  while  Appius,  with  two  parts 
of  the  forces,  invested  the  city,  Marcellus,  with  the  rest, 
advancing  through  the  country,  wasted  the  lands  of  those 
Sicilians  who  had  joined  the  Carthaginians  in  the  war. 

[We  may  briefly  state  the  conclusion  of  this  remarkable  defence, 
and  the  fate  of  the  man  who  conducted  it.  The  Romans  finally  took 
the  city  by  surprise.  According  to  tradition,  Archimedes  was  found 
by  the  assailants  sitting  in  the  public  square,  with  a  number  of  geo- 
metrical figures  drawn  before  him  in  the  sand.  As  a  Roman  soldier 
rushed  upon  him,  he  called  out  to  the  rude  warrior  not  to  spoil  the 
circle.     But  the  soldier  cut  him  down.] 


JASON  AND  MEDEA. 

APOLLONIUS   RHODIUS. 

[The  author  with  whom  we  are  now  concerned,  a  native  of  Nau- 
cratis,  in  Egypt,  where  he  was  born  probably  in  235  B.C.,  was  a  pupil 
of  Callimachus,  the  celebrated  poet  and  critic  of  Alexandria.  His 
first  poetic  venture  was  the  "  Argonautica,"  a  hastily- written  epic,  which 
was  oflfered  in  competition  with  a  poetical  production  by  Callimachus. 
It  proved  a  failure,  and  the  mortified  author  left  Egypt  and  proceeded 
to  the  island  of  Rhodes,  whose  name  became  afterwards  attached,  as  a 
distinguishing  appellation,  to  his  own.  Here,  though  young,  his  rep- 
utation as  a  scholar  had  preceded  him,  and  the  school  of  rhetoric  which 
he  opened  soon  became  flourishing.  During  this  period  he  revised  and 
greatly  improved  the  "  Argonautica."  After  a  long  residence  in  Rhodes, 
he  returned  to  Alexandria,  where  he  was  made  royal  librarian,  which 
important  post  he  filled  till  his  death. 

The  "Argonautica,"  which  gives  a  simple  and  direct  account  of  the 
expedition  of  the  Argonauts,  is  strictly  epic  in  treatment,  and,  though 
it  lacks  grandeur  and  sublimity,  it  possesses  tenderness,  the  second 
characteristic  of  the  epie.  It  is  a  work  of  art  and  labor,  and  in  strong 
contrast  to  the  natural  movement  of  Homer's  poems,  whose  language  it 
imitates.     The  episodes  are  often  very  beautiful ,  and  give  life  and  color 


368  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.        [Apollonius 

to  the  poem.  The  character  of  Medea  is  charmingly  drawn,  and  the 
growth  of  her  love  for  Jason  is  artistically  delineated.  We  select,  from 
Elton's  translation,  some  of  the  passages  in  which  Medea's  growing 
passion,  is  described.] 

Amidst  them  all,  the  son  of  ^son,  chief 

Shone  forth  divinely  in  his  comeliness 

And  graces  of  his  form.     On  him  the  maid 

Held  still  her  eyes  askance,  and  gazed  him  o'er 

Through  her  transparent  glistening  veil ;  while  grief 

Consumed  her  heart,  her  mind,  as  in  a  dream, 

Slid  stealthily  away,  and  hovering  hung 

On  his  departing  footsteps.     Sorrowing  they 

"Went  from  the  palace  forth.     Chalciope, 

Dreading  Petes'  anger,  hastening  passed 

Within  her  secret  chamber,  with  her  sons ; 

And  thus  Medea  went,  her  soul  absorbed 

In  many  musings,  such  as  love  incites, 

Thoughts  of  deep  care.     Now  all  remembered  things 

In  apparition  rose  before  her  eyes : 

What  was  his  aspect ;  what  the  robe  he  wore  ; 

What  words  he  uttered ;  in  what  posture  placed 

He  on  the  couch  reclined ;  and  with  what  air 

He  from  the  porch  passed  forth.     Then  red  the  blush 

Burned  on  her  cheek ;  while  in  her  soul  she  thought 

No  other  man  existed  like  to  him  : 

His  voice  was  murmuring  in  her  cars,  and  all 

The  charming  words  he  uttered.     Now,  disturbed, 

She  trembled  for  his  life,  lest  the  fierce  bulls, 

Or  lest  iEetes  should,  himself,  destroy 

The  man  she  loved ;  and  she  bewailed  him  now 

As  if  ah'cady  dead,  and  down  her  cheeks, 

In  deep  commiseration,  the  soft  tear 

Flowed  anxiously.     With  piercing  tone  of  grief 

Her  voice  found  utterance :  "  Why,  unhappy  one, 


Apollonius]  JASON  AND   MEDEA.  369 

Am  I  thus  wretched  ?  what  concerns  it  me 
Whether  this  paragon  of  heroes  die 
The  death,  or  flee  discomfited  ?     And  yet 
He  should  depart  unharmed.     Dread  Hecate, 
Be  it  thy  pleasure !  let  him  homeward  pass 
And  'scape  his  threatened  fate  ;  or,  if  his  fate 
Beneath  the  bulls  have  destined  him  to  fall, 
First  let  him  know  that  in  his  wi-etched  end 
Medea  does  not  glory!"     So,  disturbed, 
Mused  the  sad  virgin  in  her  anguished  thoughts. 

[The  mission  of  Jason,  as  most  readers  know,  was  to  obtain  the 
golden  fleece  that  hung  in  the  temple  of  Colchis  and  was  magically 
guarded  by  the  fire-breathing  bulls.  For  this  purpose  he  had  proceeded 
thither,  with  his  hero  companions,  in  the  ship  Argo,  and  had  now  won 
Medea,  the  daughter  of  the  Colchian  king,  through  love,  to  favor  his 
enterprise.     During  the  night  she  anxiously  deliberates.] 

No  bay  of  dogs, 
No  noise  of  tumult,  stirred  the  city  streets. 
All  hushed  in  stillest  darkness.     But  sweet  sleep 
Soothed  not  Medea.     Many  a  busy  thought. 
For  love  of  Jason,  strained  her  wakeful  eyes. 
She  feared  the  bulls,  by  whose  o'ermastering  strength 
He,  on  the  battle-field,  must  haply  meet 
Dishonorable  death.     With  feverous  throbs 
The  heart  within  her  bosom  restless  heaved. 
As  when  the  glitter  of  the  sun,  that  springs 
From  water  in  some  caldron  freshly  poured, 
Or  milk-pail  brandished,  quivers  on  the  walls, 
Darts  in  quick  rings,  and  vibrates  round  and  round ; 
So  was  the  virgin's  heart  within  her  breast 
Turned  to  and  fro.     The  tear,  compassionate, 
Stole  trickling  from  her  eyes,  and  inward  grief 
Played  with  slow  wasting  on  her  pining  frame  : 
1—2/ 


370  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.        [Apollonius 

Such  weight  of  suffering  did  her  sleepless  love 

Lay  on  her  bosom.     Now  her  will  resolves 

To  gift  the  chief  with  drugs  of  charming  power  j 

Now  she  abjures  the  thought,  and  she  will  die 

Together  with  the  man  she  loves.     Anon 

Her  resolutions  change  ;  nor  will  she  die 

With  him  she  loves,  nor  yield  the  charming  drugs. 

But  calm,  with  unresisting  apathy. 

Bear  with  his  fate. 

[The  deliberations  of  Medea  ended  in  her  putting  into  effect  the 
power  of  magic  she  possessed,  and  preparing  a  charm  -which  would 
carry  her  lover  safely  through  the  perils  of  his  projected  enterprise. 
She  met  him  the  next  morning,  and  her  fears  and  doubts  were  soothed 
by  his  soft  words  and  warm  entreaties.] 

So  said  the  youth,  with  admiration  high 
Gilding  his  sjDcech ;  but  she,  her  eyes  cast  down, 
Smiled  with  enchanting  sweetness  :  all  her  soul 
Melted  within  her,  of  his  words  of  praise 
Enamoured.     Then  she  fixed  full  opposite 
Her  eyes  upon  him,  at  a  loss  what  word 
She  first  should  speak,  yet  wishing  in  a  breath 
To  utter  all  her  fond,  impetuous  thoughts. 
And  with  spontaneous  act  she  took  the  drug 
From  forth  her  fragrant  girdle's  folds,  and  he 
Received  it  from  her  hands,  elate  with  joy  ; 
And  she  had  drawn  the  spirit  from  her  breast, 
Had  he  but  asked  it,  sighing  out  her  soul 
Into  his  bosom.     So  from  Jason's  head, 
Waving  with  jx'llow  locks,  Jove  lightened  forth 
A  lambent  flame,  and  snatched  the  darted  rays 
That  trembled  from  his  eyes.     Her  inmost  soul 
Floating  in  bliss,  she  all  dissolved  away. 
As  dew  on  roses  in  the  morning's  beam 


Apollouius]  JASON  AND  MEDEA.  371 

Evaporating  melts.     So  stood  they  both, 
And  bent,  in  bashfuhiess,  their  eyes  on  earth. 
Then  glanced  them  on  each  other,  while  their  brows 
Smiled  joyous,  in  serenity  of  love. 

At  length  the  virgin,  half  inaudible. 
Addressed  him  thus :  "  Learn  now  my  purposed  means 
To  aid  thee.     When  thou  comest,  and  my  sire 
Gives  thee  to  sow  the  serpent's  mortal  teeth. 
Watch  when  the  midnight  parts  the  sky,  and  bathe 
In  the  perennial  river's  flowing  stream. 
Then,  wrapt  in  sable  garments,  dig  a  trench 
In  hollow  circle :  slay  a  lamb  therein. 
And,  fresh  and  undivided,  lay  the  lamb 
Upon  the  altar.     When  thy  htind  has  heaped 
Within  the  circled  trench  the  fueled  lire. 
Then  soothe  with  prayers  the  one  dread  Hecate, 
And  from  a  goblet  in  libation  shed 
The  honey  of  the  hive.     The  goddess  thus 
Duly  appeased,  recede,  and  quit  the  pile ; 
Nor  let  the  tramp  of  footsteps  make  thee  turn, 
Nor  yell  of  dogs,  lest  all  should  be  undone  ; 
Nor  thou  from  this  emprise,  as  meet  it  is, 
Greet  thy  companions.     Liquefy  this  drug 
By  glimmer  of  the  dawn,  and,  naked,  spread 
The  slippery  ointment  o'er  thy  shining  limbs. 
A  mighty  force  shall  instantly  pervade 
Thy  body,  and  immensity  of  strength. 
And  thou  wouldst  say  thou  wert  a  match  in  fight, 
Not  for  men  only,  but  immortal  gods  ; 
And  let  thy  spear,  thy  buckler,  and  thy  sword 
Be  thus  anointed.     Not  the  lances,  then. 
Of  earth-born  hosts  can  wound  thee,  nor  the  flame, 
Resistless  darted,  of  the  deadly  bulls. 
Not  thus  invulnerable  in  thy  strength 


372  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Apollonius 

"Wilt  thou  remtiin,  but  only  on  that  day. 

Go  boldly  to  the  combat ;  draw  not  back, 

For  I  have  other  aid.     When  thou  hast  yoked 

The  sturdy  bulls,  and  ploughed  with  hands  of  strength 

The  furrowed  fallow,  and  the  giants  rise. 

Sprung  from  the  serpent's  teeth,  which  thou  hast  thrown 

'Midst  the  dark  glebe ;  when  thou  shalt  mark  them  rise 

Thick  o'er  the  field,  then  cast,  with  wily  throw, 

A  heavy  stone.     They  for  the  prize,  like  dogs 

That  ravening  fight  for  food,  shall  turn  and  slay 

Each  other.     Thou  thyself  impetuous  rush, 

And  charge  amidst  the  battle.     So  shalt  thou 

Bear  from  J^^eta's  isle  the  fleece  away 

To  distant  Greece ;  and  thou  shalt  hence  depart 

Whene'er  it  please  thee, — should  it  please  thee  hence 

So  Iq  depart."     She  said,  and  silently 

Low  towards  her  feet  bent  sad  her  sorrowing  eyes. 

And  bathed  her  cheek  with  scalding  tears,  and  mourned 

That  he  should  wander  on  the  seas,  far  ofi". 

Away  from  her.     Then,  careless  of  reserve, 

Again  with  plaintive  speech  addressing  him. 

She  caught  him  with  her  hand ;  for  now  her  eyes 

Had  lost  their  bashful  shame :  "  Eemember  yet, 

If  to  thy  home  thou  ever  shouldst  return, 

Medea's  name.     When  thou  art  far  away 

I  shall  remember  thee." 

[What  followed — how  Jason  carried  away  both  the  fleece  and  the 
maid,  how  he  afterwards  deserted  her  for  a  new  bride,  and  how  fear- 
fully she  revenged  herself — is  fulty  told  in  the  heroic  legends  of  Greece. 
The  most  admired  tragedy  of  Euripides  is  devoted  to  this  hapless 
story.] 


Apttleius]      philosophical   CONSOLATIONS.  373 


PHILOSOPHICAL  CONSOLATIONS. 

VARIOUS. 

[Lucius  Apuleius,  who  flourished  about  IGO  a.d.,  was  a  Platonic 
philosopher,  a  native  of  Madaura,  in  Africa.  He  studied  philosophy 
in  Carthage  and  Athens,  and  wrote  worlis  on  a  great  variety  of  sub- 
jects. His  best-known  work,  the  "  Metamorphosis,"  better  known  as 
the  "  Golden  Ass,"  is  a  collection  of  ancient  tales,  largely  borrowed 
from  Lucian,  and  put  together  with  little  skill  or  art,  its  best  portion 
being  the  beautiful  poetical  legend  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  which  has 
been  admired  in  all  subsequent  ages.  Apuleius  gained  fortune  by 
marriage  with  a  rich  widow.  For  this  marriage  he  was  put  on  trial, 
charged  with  having  won  his  wife's  aflections  by  magic.  Some  of  the 
grounds  of  this  charge  were  oddly  puerile.  Poverty  was  one  of  them. 
This  he  answered  in  his  defence  in  the  following  skilful  manner.] 

He  has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  reproach  me  with  my 
poverty, — a  charge  truly  acceptable  to  a  philosopher,  and 
one  to  which  I  readily  plead  guilty.  For  Poverty  has  long 
been  the  handmaid  of  Philosophy ;  frugal,  temjaerate,  con- 
tented with  little,  eager  for  praise,  averse  from  the  things 
sought  by  wealth,  safe  in  her  ways,  simple  in  her  require- 
ments, in  her  counsels  a  promoter  of  what  is  right.  jSTo 
one  has  she  ever  puffed  up  with  pride,  no  one  has  she  cor- 
rupted by  the  enjoyment  of  JDOwer,  no  one  has  she  mad- 
dened with  tyrannical  ambition ;  for  no  pampering  of  the 
appetite  or  of  the  passions  does  she  sigh,  nor  can  she  in- 
dulge it.  But  it  is  your  fosterlings  of  wealth  who  are  in 
the  habit  of  perpetrating  these  disgraceful  excesses,  and 
others  of  a  kindred  nature.  If  you  review  all  the  greatest 
enormities  that  have  been  committed  in  the  memory  of 
mankind,  you  will  not  find  a  single  poor  man  among  the 
perpetrators ;  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  number  of 
I.  32 


374  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Apuleiits 

illustrious  men  hardly  any  of  the  rich  are  to  be  found ; 
Poverty  has  nurtured  from  his  very  cradle  every  individ- 
ual in  whom  we  find  anything  to  admire  and  commend, — 
Poverty,  I  say, — she  who  in  former  ages  was  the  foundress 
of  all  cities,  the  inventress  of  all  arts,  she  who  is  guiltless 
of  all  oifence,  who  is  lavish  of  all  glory,  who  has  been 
honored  with  every  praise  among  all  nations.  For  this 
same  Poverty  it  was  that,  among  the  Greeks,  showed 
herself  just  in  Aristides,  humane  in  Phocion,  resolute  in 
Epaminondas,  wise  in  Socrates,  and  eloquent  in  Homer. 
It  was  this  same  Poverty,  too,  that  for  the  Koman  people 
laid  the  very  earliest  foundations  of  their  sway,  and  that 
offers  sacrifice  to  the  immortal  gods  in  their  behalf,  with 
the  ladle  and  the  dish  of  clay,  even  to  this  day. 

If  there  were  now  sitting  as  judges  at  this  trial  C, 
Fabricius,  Cneius  Scipio,  and  Manius  Curius,  whose  daugh- 
ters, by  reason  of  their  poverty,  went  home  to  their  hus- 
bands portioned  at  the  public  expense,  carrying  with  them 
the  glories  of  their  family  and  the  money  of  the  public ; 
if  Publicola,  the  expeller  of  the  kings,  and  Agrippa,  the 
reconciler  of  the  people,  the  expense  of  whose  funeral  was, 
in  consequence  of  their  limited  fortunes,  defrayed  by  the 
Eoman  people,  by  contributions  of  the  smallest  coins ;  if 
Attilius  Eegulus,  whose  little  field  was,  in  consequence  of 
a  like  poverty,  cultivated  at  the  public  expense ;  if,  in  fine, 
all  those  ancient  families,  ennobled  by  consulships,  censoi'- 
ships,  and  triumphs,  could  obtain  a  short  respite,  and  return 
to  light,  and  take  part  in  this  trial,  would  you  then  have 
dared  to  reproach  a  philosopher  for  his  poverty,  in  the 
presence  of  so  many  consuls  distinguished  for  theirs?  .  .  . 

I  could,  indeed,  raise  an  argument  with  you  about  the 
very  name  itself,  and  I  could  show  that  none  of  us  are 
poor  who  do  not  wish  for  superfluities,  and  who  possess  the 
things  which  are  necessary,  which,  by  nature,  are  but  few 


Gellius]         philosophical    CONSOLATIONS.  375 

indeed.  For  he  has  the  most  who  desires  the  least ;  he 
who  wants  but  httle  is  most  Hkely  to  have  as  much  as  he 
wants.  It  is  with  the  mind  just  as  it  is  with  the  body  : 
in  a  healthy  state  it  is  lightly  clad,  but  in  sickness  it  is 
wrajjped  in  cumbrous  clothing ;  and  it  is  a  sure  sign  of 
infirmity  to  have  many  wants.  It  is  with  life  just  as  with 
swimming :  the  man  is  the  most  expert  who  is  the  most 
disengaged  from  all  encumbrances.  For  my  part,  I  have 
learned  that  in  this  especially  the  gods  surpass  mankind, 
that  they  have  to  satisfy  no  necessities.  Hence  it  is  that 
him  among  us  who  has  the  fewest  possible  necessities  I 
consider  most  strongly  to  resemble  a  god. 

[AVe  offer  another  extract,  inculcating  the  same  general  moral  as 
that  just  given,  from  tlio  work  of  Aulus  Gellius,  a  contemporary  of 
Apuleius.  Of  the  history  of  this  writer  we  know  little,  but  he  has 
left  us  a  valuable  legacy  in  his  "  Noctes  AtticiB"  ("  Attic  Nights"),  so 
called  from  having  been  principally  composed  during  the  winter 
nights  in  a  country-house  of  Attica.  The  value  of  this  book  consists 
in  its  containing  numerous  extracts  from  writers  whose  works  are  now 
lost,  and  many  curious  facts  concerning  ancient  times,  not  elsewhere 
recorded.  "We  select  the  following  example  of  a  philosopher's  wit 
and  wisdom.] 

In  our  way  from  Cassopia  to  Brundusium  we  passed 
through  the  Ionian,  a  sea  violent,  vast,  and  agitated  with 
storms.  During  the  whole  first  night  of  our  voyage  a 
very  stormy  side-wind  filled  our  vessel  with  water.  At 
length,  after  much  complaining,  and  sufiicient  employment 
at  the  pump,  daylight  appeared,  but  brought  no  diminution 
of  our  danger,  nor  cessation  of  the  storm ;  but  the  whirl- 
winds seemed  increasing,  and  the  black  sky,  and  the  balls 
of  fire,  and  the  clouds,  forming  themselves  into  frightful 
shapes  (which  they  called  Typhous),  appeared  hanging 
over  us  ready  to  overwhelm  the  ship.  In  the  company 
was  a  celebi'ated  philosopher  of  the  Stoic  school,  whom  I 


376  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Gellius 

had  known  at  Athens,  a  man  of  some  consequence,  and 
rather  distinguished  for  the  good  order  in  which  he  kept 
his  pupils.  Amidst  all  these  dangers,  and  this  tumult  of 
sea  and  sky,  I  watched  this  man  attentively,  anxious  to 
know  the  state  of  his  mind,  whether  he  was  dauntless  and 
unalarmed.  I  observed  that  he  expressed  no  fear  nor  appre- 
hensions, uttered  no  complaints  like  the  rest,  nor  gave  in  to 
their  way  of  exclaiming,  but  in  paleness  and  terror  of  coun- 
tenance he  differed  but  little  from  his  neighbors. 

When  the  sky  grew  clear,  and  the  sea  became  calm, 
a  certain  rich  Greek  from  Asia  approached  the  Stoic; 
his  wealth  was  proved  fi'om  his  expensive  appearance, 
his  quantity  of  baggage,  and  his  train  of  attendants. 
"  What  is  the  reason,"  said  he,  in  a  bantering  tone,  "  that, 
when  we  were  in  danger,  you,  who  are  a  philosopher,  were 
afraid,  and  looked  pale,  while  I  was  neither  afraid  nor 
pale  ?"  The  philosopher  doubting  a  little  whether  it  was 
worth  while  to  make  any  answer,  "If,"  said  he,  "in  so 
violent  a  storm  I  did  discover  a  little  fear,  you  are  not 
worthy  of  being  told  the  reason ;  but  that  follower  of 
Aristippus  shall  give  you  an  answer  for  me,  who  upon  a 
similar  occasion,  being  asked  by  a  man  much  like  your- 
self why,  as  a  philosopher,  he  was  afraid,  while  he  feared 
nothing,  replied  that  there  was  not  the  same  cause  for  fear 
in  one  as  in  the  other,  for  the  preservation  of  a  worthless 
coxcomb  was  not  an  object  worthy  of  much  anxiety,  but 
that  he  was  concerned  for  the  safety  of  an  Aristipj^us." 
With  this  reply  the  Stoic  got  rid  of  the  rich  Asiatic. 

[The  writer  who  is  usually  classed  as  the  latest  of  ancient  authors, 
Boethius,  a  Eoman  statesman,  prose- writer,  and  poet,  horn  about  472 
A.D.,  gives  us,  in  his  "  De  Consolatione  Philosophias,"  a  series  of  ex- 
cellent philosophical  arguments  in  the  same  general  strain  as  the  fore- 
going, and  full  of  that  wisdom  which  leads  men  to  contemn  the  gifts 
of  fortune.     He  was  himself  wealthy  and  highly  educated,  and  held 


BoETHius]      PHILOSOPHICAL    CONSOLATIONS.  377 

important  offices  in  the  state,  which  he  filled  with  the  greatest  wisdom 
and  fidelity.  But  virtue  flourished  poorly  in  the  soil  of  Rome,  and 
the  integrity  of  Boethius  made  him  enemies,  who  finally  succeeded  in 
having  him  condemned  and  executed. 

His  best-known  woi'k,  "  On  the  Consolation  of  Philosophy,"  was 
composed  during  the  two  years  he  lay  in  prison  before  his  execution. 
It  is  an  imaginary  conversation  between  the  author  and  personified 
Philosophy,  its  doctrines  inclining  towards  those  of  the  Stoics.  The 
work  was  highly  popular  during  the  Middle  Ages,  and  had  the  fortune 
to  be  translated  into  Anglo-Saxon  by  King  Alfred,  so  that  we  possess 
the  work  of  the  last  of  the  ancient  authors  in  the  version  of  one  of 
the  first  of  the  modern.  We  give,  in  a  modernized  form,  the  following 
selection  from  King  Alfred's  translation.] 


THE   INSTABILITY   OP   FAME. 

And  ye  nevertheless  care  not  whether  ye  do  any  good, 
on  any  other  account  than  for  the  Httle  praise  of  the 
people,  and  for  the  short  fame  which  we  before  have  spoken 
of.  Ye  labor  for  this,  and  despise  the  excellencies  of  your 
mind  and  of  your  understanding  and  of  your  reason,  and 
would  have  the  reward  of  your  good  works  from  other 
men's  report. 

Ye  look  thereto  for  the  reward  which  ye  should  seek 
from  God.  But  thou  hast  heard  what  long  ago  happened ; 
that  a  very  wise  man  and  very  noble  began  to  try  a  phi- 
losopher, and  scoffed  at  him  because  he  so  arrogantly  lifted 
himself  up  and  proclaimed  this,  that  he  was  a  philosopher. 
He  did  not  make  it  known  by  any  talents,  but  by  false  and 
proud  boasting.  Then  the  wise  man  was  disposed  to  prove 
him,  whether  he  was  so  wise  as  he  himself  thought  he  was. 
He  therefore  began  to  revile  and  speak  ill  of  him. 

Then  the  philo80j)her  heard  the  wise  man's  words  very 

patiently  for  some  time.     But  after  he  had  heard  his  re- 

vilings  he  then  retorted  with  great  impatience  (though  he 

had  before  pretended  that  he  was  a  philosopher),  and  again 
I.  32* 


378  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Boethius 

asked  him  whether  he  considered  him  to  be  a  philosopher 
or  not.     Then  answered  the  wise  man  to  him  and  said, — 

"  I  would  say  that  thou  wert  a  philosopher  if  thou  wert 
patient  and  able  to  be  silent." 

How  long  was  to  him  the  fame  which  he  before  falsely 
sought?  How  did  he  not  immediately  burst  because  of 
one  answer  ?  What  has  it  then  profited  the  best  men  who 
were  before  us  that  they  so  greatly  desired  vain  glory  and 
fame  after  their  death  ?  Or  what  does  it  profit  those  who 
now  are  ?  Therefore  it  were  to  every  man  more  needful 
that  he  were  desirous  of  good  actions  than  of  deceitful 
fame.  What  has  he  from  this  fame  after  the  separation 
of  the  body  and  the  soul  ?  Do  we  not  know  that  all  men 
bodily  die,  and  yet  the  soul  is  living  ?  But  the  soul  goes 
very  freely  to  the  heavens  after  it  is  set  loose  and  is  liber- 
ated from  the  prison  of  the  body.  It  then  despises  all  these 
earthly  things,  and  rejoices  in  this,  that  it  may  enjoy  the 
heavenly  after  it  is  taken  away  from  the  earthly.  Then 
the  mind  will  itself  be  witness  of  God's  will. 

WEALTH    IS    NOT   WORTH. 

It  is  the  condition  of  the  life  of  men  that  they  then  only 
are  before  all  other  creatures  when  they  know  themselves 
what  they  are  and  whence  they  are ;  and  they  are  worse 
than  cattle  when  they  will  not  know  what  they  are  or 
whence  they  are.  It  is,  therefore,  very  plain  that  ye  are 
in  error  when  ye  think  that  any  one  can  be  made  honor- 
able by  external  riches. 

If  any  one  is  made  honorable  with  any  riches,  and  en- 
dowed with  any  valuable  possessions,  does  not  the  honor 
then  belong  to  that  which  makes  him  honorable?  That 
which  is  adorned  with  anything  else  is  not  therefore  fairer, 
though  the  ornaments  be  fair  which  it  is  adorned  with.  If 
it  before  was  vile,  it  is  not  on  that  account  fairer.     Know 


Persius]  the  reproach  OF  IDLENESS.  379 

thou  assuredly  that  no  good  hurteth  him  who  possesseth 
it.  Thou  knowest  that  I  lie  not,  and  also  know  that  riches 
often  hurt  them  who  possess  them. 


THE  REPROACH  OF  IDLENESS. 

PERSIUS. 

[Juvenal,  the  greatest  of  Eoman  satirists,  was  preceded  by  Aulus 
Persius  Flaccus,  a  satirical  writer  of  marked  ability,  born  in  34  a.d. 
This  writer,  who  had  been  well  educated  by  the  Stoic  philosopher 
Cornutus,  and  was  on  terms  of  close  intimacy  with  the  most  dis- 
tinguished literary  celebrities  of  his  time,  died  in  his  twenty- eighth 
year,  leaving  as  his  legacy  to  posterity  the  six  short  satiric  poems 
which  are  known  under  his  name.  In  character  he  was  marked  by 
purity  and  virtue  and  by  modest  and  gentle  manners,  and  his  castiga- 
tion  of  the  vices  of  his  age  lacks  the  biting  severity  of  Lucilius  and 
the  fierce  indignation  of  Juvenal,  but  is  marked  rather  by  a  caustic 
irony  similar  to  that  of  the  Greek  comedians.  He  avoids  the  grosser 
sins  prevalent  among  his  contemporaries,  and  lashes  wickedness  in  the 
abstract,  and  with  a  degree  of  amiability  which  has  made  his  satires 
always  popular.  The  language  is  terse  and  sometimes  obscure,  but  the 
dialogues  are  marked  by  excellent  dramatic  power.  The  selection 
here  given  constitutes  the  essential  portions  of  the  Third  Satire,  as 
translated  by  Dryden.] 

Is  this  thy  daily  course  ?  the  glaring  sun 
Breaks  in  at  every  chink ;  the  cattle  run 
To  shades,  and  noontide  rays  of  summer  shine, 
Yet  plunged  in  sloth  we  lie,  and  snore  supine, 
As  filled  with  fumes  of  undigested  wine. 

This  grave  advice  some  sober  student  bears, 
And  loudly  rings  it  in  his  fellows'  ears. 
The  yawning  youth,  scarce  half  awake,  essays 
His  lazy  limbs  and  dozy  head  to  raise. 


380  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Persius 

Then  rubs  his  gummy  eyes,  and  scrubs  his  pate, 

And  cries,  "  I  thought  it  had  not  been  so  late  : 

My  clothes !  make  haste !  why,  when? — "  If  none  be  near, 

He  mutters  first,  and  then  begins  to  swear, 

And  brays  aloud,  with  a  more  clamorous  note 

Than  an  Arcadian  ass  can  stretch  his  throat. 

With  much  ado,  his  book  before  him  laid. 
And  parchment,  with  the  smoother  side  displayed, 
He  takes  the  papers,  lays  'em  down  again. 
And  with  unwilling  fingers  tries  the  pen : 
Some  peevish  quarrel  straight  he  strives  to  pick ; 
His  quill  writes  double,  or  his  ink's  too  thick : 
Infuse  more  water ;  now  'tis  grown  so  thin 
It  sinks,  nor  can  the  characters  be  seen. 

O  wretch,  and  still  more  wretched  every  day  I 
Are  mortals  born  to  sleej)  their  lives  away  ? 
Gro  back  to  what  thy  infancy  began. 
Thou  who  wert  never  meant  to  be  a  man : 
Eat  pap  and  spoon-meat ;  for  thy  gewgaws  cry : 
Be  sullen,  and  refuse  the  lullaby. 
No  more  accuse  thy  j)en,  but  charge  the  crime 
On  native  sloth  and  negligence  of  time. 
Think'st  thou  thy  master,  or  thy  friends,  to  cheat  ? 
Fool,  'tis  thyself,  and  that's  a  worse  deceit. 
Beware  the  public  laughter  of  the  town  ; 
Thou  spring'st  a  leak  already  in  thy  crown. 
A  flaw  is  in  thy  ill- baked  vessel  found ; 
'Tis  hollow,  and  returns  a  jarring  sound. 

Yet  thy  moist  clay  is  pliant  to  command, 
Unwrought,  and  easy  to  the  potter's  hand  : 
Now  take  the  mould ;  now  bend  thy  mind  to  feel 
The  first  sharp  motions  of  the  forming  wheel. 

But  thou  hast  land ;  a  country-seat,  secure 
By  a  just  title  ;  costly  furniture  ; 


Persius]  the  reproach  OF  IDLENESS.  381 

A  fuming-pan  thy  lares  to  appease  : 

What  need  of  learning  when  a  man's  at  ease? 

If  this  be  not  enough  to  swell  thy  soul, 

Then  please  thy  pride,  and  search  the  herald's  roll, 

"Where  thou  shalt  find  thy  famous  pedigree 

Drawn  from  the  root  of  some  old  Tuscan  tree, 

And  thou,  a  thousand  off,  a  fool  of  long  degree, 

Who,  clad  in  purple,  canst  thy  censor  greet, 

And  loudly  call  him  "  cousin"  in  the  street. 

Such  pageantry  be  to  the  people  shown ; 
Then  boast  thy  horse's  trappings,  and  thy  own : 
I  know  thee  to  thy  bottom, — from  within 
Thy  shallow  centre  to  the  utmost  skin  : 
Dost  thou  not  blush  to  live  so  like  a  beast, 
So  trim,  so  dissolute,  so  loosely  dressed  ? 

But  'tis  in  vain  :  the  wretch  is  drenched  too  deep  ; 
His  soul  is  stupid,  and  his  heart  asleep ; 
Fattened  in  vice,  so  callous,  and  so  gross, 
He  sins,  and  sees  not,  senseless  of  his  loss. 
Down  goes  the  wretch  at  once,  unskilled  to  swim, 
Hopeless  to  bubble  up  and  reach  the  water's  brim. 

Great  father  of  the  gods,  when,  for  our  crimes, 

Thou  send' St  some  heavy  judgment  on  the  times, 

Some  tyrant  king,  the  terror  of  his  age. 

The  type  and  true  vicegerent  of  thy  rage. 

Thus  punish  him  :  Set  Yirtue  in  his  sight, 

With  all  her  charms  adorned,  with  all  her  graces  bright ; 

But  set  her  distant,  make  him  pale  to  see 

His  gains  outweighed  by  lost  felicity ! 

*  *  *  ^  *  * 

Hast  thou  not  yet  proposed  some  certain  end 
To  which  thy  life,  thy  every  act,  may  tend  ? 
Hast  thou  no  mark  at  which  to  bend  thy  bow  ? 
Or,  like  a  boy,  pursu'st  the  carrion  crow 


382  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Persius 

With  pellets,  and  with  stones,  from  tree  to  tree, 

A  fruitless  toil,  and  liv'st  extempore  ?  .  .  . 

Study  thyself;  what  rank,  or  what  degree. 

The  wise  Creator  has  ordained  for  thee ; 

And  all  the  offices  of  that  estate 

Perform,  and  with  thy  prudence  guide  thy  fate. 

Pray  justly,  to  bo  heard,  nor  more  desire 

Than  what  the  decencies  of  life  require. 

Learn  what  thou  owest  thy  country  and  thy  friend, — 

"What's  requisite  to  spare,  and  what  to  spend : 

Learn  this ;  and  after  envy  not  the  store 

Of  the  greased  advocate,  that  grinds  the  poor, 

Fat  fees  from  the  defended  Umbrian  draws. 

And  only  gains  the  wealthy  client's  cause. 

But  here  some  captain  of  the  land  or  fleet, 
Stout  of  his  hands,  but  of  a  soldier's  wit. 
Cries,  "  I  have  sense  to  serve  my  turn,  in  store. 
And  he's  a  rascal  that  pretends  to  more. 
Damme,  whate'er  those  book-learned  blockheads  say, 
Solon's  the  veriest  fool  in  all  the  play. 
Top-heavy  drones,  and  always  looking  down 
(As  over-ballasted  within  the  crown), 
Muttering  betwixt  their  lips  some  mystic  thing, 
Which,  well  examined,  is  flat  conjuring, — 
Mere  madmen's  dreams.     For  what  the  schools  have  taught 
Is  only  this, — that  nothing  can  be  brought 
From  nothing;  and  what  is  can  ne'er  be  turned  to  naught. 
Is  it  for  this  they  study  ?  to  grow  pale, 
And  miss  the  pleasures  of  a  glorious  meal  ? 
For  this,  in  rags  accoutred,  are  they  seen. 
And  made  the  may-game  of  the  public  spleen  ?" 

Proceed,  my  friend,  and  rail ;  but  hear  me  tell 
A  story  which  is  just  thy  parallel. 


Persius]  the  reproach  OF  IDLENESS.  383 

A  spark,  like  thee,  of  the  man-killing  trade, 

Fell  sick,  and  thus  to  his  physician  said : 

"  Methinks  I  am  not  right  in  every  part ; 

I  feel  a  kind  of  trembling  at  my  heart ; 

My  pulse  unequal,  and  my  breath  is  strong ; 

Besides  a  filthy  fur  upon  my  tongue." 

The  doctor  heard  him,  exercised  his  skill, 

And  after  bade  him  for  four  days  be  still. 

Three  days  he  took  good  counsel,  and  began 

To  mend,  and  look  like  a  recovering  man  : 

The  fourth,  he  could  not  hold  from  drink,  but  sends 

His  boy  to  one  of  his  old  trusty  friends, 

Adjuring  him,  by  all  the  powers  divine, 

To  pity  his  distress,  who  could  not  dine 

Without  a  flao;on  of  his  healins:  wine. 

He  drinks  a  swilling  draught,  and,  lined  within, 

Will  supple,  in  the  bath,  his  outward  skin : 

AVhom  should  he  find  but  his  physician  there, 

Who,  wisely,  bade  him  once  again  beware : 

"  Sir,  you  look  wan,  you  hardly  draw  your  breath ; 

Drinking  is  dangerous,  and  the  bath  is  death." 

"  'Tis  nothing,"  says  the  fool ;  but  says  the  friend, 

"  This  nothing,  sir,  will  bring  you  to  your  end  : 

Do  I  not  see  your  dropsy  belly  swell  ? 

Your  yellow  skin  ?" — "  No  more  of  that ;  I'm  well. 

I  have  already  buried  two  or  three 

That  stood  betwixt  a  fair  estate  and  me, 

And,  doctor,  I  may  live  to  bury  thee. 

Thou  tell'st  me  I  look  ill ;  and  thou  look'st  vforse." 

"  I've  done,  "  says  the  physician ;  "  take  your  course." 

The  laughing  sot,  like  all  unthinking  men, 

Bathes  and  gets  drunk, — then  bathes  and  drinks  again, 

His  throat  half  throttled  with  corrupted  phlegm, 

And  breathing  through  his  jaws  a  belching  steam ; 


384  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Persius 

Amidst  his  cups  with  fainting  shivering  seized, 

His  limbs  disjointed,  and  all  o'er  diseased, 

His  hand  refuses  to  sustain  the  bowl, 

And  his  teeth  chatter,  and  his  eyeballs  roll. 

Till,  with  his  meat,  he  vomits  out  his  soul. 

Then  trumpets,  torches,  and  a  tedious  crew 

Of  hireling  mourners,  for  his  funeral  due. 

Our  dear  departed  brother  lies  in  state. 

His  heels  stretched  out  and  pointing  to  the  gate; 

And  slaves,  now  manumized,  on  their  dead  master  wait: 

They  hoist  him  on  the  bier,  and  deal  the  dole ; 

And  there's  an  end  of  a  luxurious  fool. 

"  But  what's  thy  fulsome  parable  to  me  ? 
My  body  is  from  all  diseases  free  ; 
My  temperate  pulse  does  regularly  beat ; 
Feel,  and  be  satisfied,  my  hands  and  feet ; 
These  are  not  cold,  nor  those  oppressed  with  heat ; 
Or  lay  thy  hand  upon  my  naked  heart, 
And  thou  shalt  find  me  hale  in  every  part." 

I  grant  this  true  :  but  still  the  deadly  wound 
Is  in  thy  soul ;  'tis  there  thou  art  not  sound. 

Such  is  th'  unequal  temper  of  th}^  mind, 
Thy  passions  in  extremes,  and  unconfined, 
Thy  hair  so  bristles  with  unmanly  fears. 
As  fields  of  corn,  that  rise  in  bearded  ears ; 
And  when  thy  cheeks  with  flushing  fury  glow. 
The  rage  of  boiling  caldrons  is  more  slow 
When  fed  with  fuel  and  with  flames  below. 
With  foam  upon  thy  lips,  and  sparkling  eyes, 
Thou  say'st,  and  dost,  in  such  outrageous  wise, 
That  mad  Orestes,  if  he  saw  the  show. 
Would  swear  thou  wert  the  madder  of  the  two. 


Theophrastus]  EVERY-DAr  CHARACTERS.  385 


EVERY-DAY  CHARACTERS. 

THEOPHRASTUS. 

[Theoplirastus,  a  disciple  of  Plato,  and  afterwards  of  Aristotle,  and 
the  most  noted  of  Athenian  scientists  after  the  death  of  the  latter,  was 
a  native  of  Ei-esus,  in  Lesbos,  where  he  was  born  374  B.C.  He  died 
287  B.C.  After  the  death  of  Aristotle  he  opened  a  school,  which  was 
highly  successful,  having  at  one  time  as  many  as  two  thousand  pupils, 
among  them  the  dramatist  Menander.  He  wrote  many  treatises  on 
scientific  and  other  subjects,  very  few  of  which  are  extant.  Besides 
his  treatises  on  Natural  History  we  possess  only  his  book  of  "  Charac- 
ters," and  some  fragments.  It  is  to  him  we  owe  the  early  preserva- 
tion of  the  works  of  Aristotle,  who  bequeathed  to  him  his  library  and 
his  original  manuscripts.  From  the  "  Characters,"  which  are  written 
with  wit  and  judgment  and  display  much  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
we  select  some  examples.] 

THE   PARSIMONIOUS    MAN. 

Parsimony  is  an  excessive  and  unreasonable  saving  of 
expense.  The  parsimonious  man  calls  at  the  house  of  his 
debtor  to  demand  a  halfpenny  of  interest,  left  over  in  the 
last  month's  payment.  At  a  banquet  he  carefully  notes 
how  many  cups  of  wine  are  drunk  by  each  guest ;  and  of 
all  the  offerings  to  Diana  usual  on  such  occasions  his  will 
be  the  least.  If  the  smallest  article  be  purchased  for  his 
use,  however  low  may  be  the  price,  he  will  say  it  is  too 
dear.  When  a  servant  breaks  a  pot  or  a  pan,  he  deducts 
the  value  of  it  from  his  daily  allowance ;  or  if  his  wife 
chances  to  lose  a  brass  button  or  a  farthing,  he  causes 
tables,  chairs,  beds,  boxes,  to  be  moved,  and  the  wardrobe 
to  be  hunted  over,  in  search  of  it.  Whoever  would  deal 
with  him  must  be  content  to  lose  by  the  transaction.  He 
suffers  no  one  to  taste  a  fig  from  his  garden,  nor  even  to 
I.— R        z  33 


386  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.    [Thsophrastus 

pass  through  his  fields,  no,  nor  to  gather  a  fallen  date  or 
olive  fi'om  the  ground.  He  inspects  the  boundaries  of  his 
farm  every  day,  to  assure  himself  that  the  hedges  and 
fences  remain  in  their  places.  He  demands  interest  on 
interest,  if  payment  is  delayed  a  day  beyond  the  ap- 
pointed time.  If  he  gives  a  public  dinner  to  his  ward,  he 
carves  out  a  scanty  portion  for  each,  and  himself  places 
his  allowance  before  every  guest.  He  goes  to  market,  and 
often  returns  without  having  purchased  an  article.  He 
strictly  charges  his  wife  to  lend  nothing  to  her  neighbors ; 
no,  not  even  a  little  salt,  nor  a  wick  for  a  lamp,  nor  a  bit 
of  cummin,  nor  a  sprig  of  marjoram,  nor  a  barley-cake, 
nor  a  fillet  for  the  victim,  nor  a  wafer  for  the  altar ;  "  for," 
saith  he,  "these  little  things  put  together  make  a  great 
sum  in  the  year." 

In  a  word,  you  may  see  the  coffers  of  such  a  fellow 
covered  with  mould,  and  himself  with  a  bunch  of  rusty 
keys  at  his  girdle,  clad  in  a  scanty  garb,  sparingly 
anointed,  shorn  to  the  scalp,  and  slipshod  at  noon.  And 
you  may  find  him  in  the  shop  of  the  fuller,  whom  he  is 
charging  not  to  spare  earth  in  cleaning  his  cloak,  that  it 
may  not  so  soon  require  dressing  again. 

ON    FLATTERY. 

One  may  consider  flattery  to  be  a  base  sort  of  an  inter- 
course designed  to  promote  the  interests  of  the  flatterer. 
The  flatterer  himself  is  one  who,  when  he  walks  in  com- 
pany Avith  you,  says,  "Do  you  take  notice  how  all  the 
people  are  gazing  at  you?  There  is  no  other  person  in 
this  city  so  honored  as  yourself.  Yesterday  you  were 
spoken  very  highly  of  at  the  Portico ;  for  when  there 
were  more  than  thirty  of  us  sitting  around,  the  question 
being  accidentally  started,  who  has  the  most  eminent  char- 
acter in  the  whole  city,  all  beginning  with  your  very  name 


TnEOPHRASTUs]   EVERY-DAY   CHARACTERS.  387 

unanimously  concluded  upon  the  same."  A  thousand  such 
things  as  these  he  is  constantly  telling  you.  Then  he 
begins  to  pick  the  lint  from  your  clothes ;  and  if  by  chance 
any  straw  be  wafted  by  the  wind  upon  the  curls  of  your 
head,  he  carefully  takes  it  off,  and,  laughing,  says,  "  Do 
you  see  ?  because  I  have  not  met  you  for  two  days,  you 
have  a  beard  full  of  gray  hairs ;  whereas  if  any  person 
has  black  hair,  you  surely  have  for  your  years !"  "When 
you  are  making  any  observation,  he  commands  all  those 
present  to  be  silent,  and  commends  him  who  listens ;  and 
when  you  stop  speaking  he  aj)plauds  what  you  have  said  : 
"  Yery  fine,  very  fine  !" 

"When  you  utter  a  jest  he  laughs  most  heartily,  and 
thrusts  his  coat  into  his  mouth,  as  if  he  could  not  suppress 
his  laughter.  He  says  to  those  that  meet  you  in  the 
streets,  "  Stop ! — wait  till  He  has  gone  by."  He  buys 
apples  and  pears  for  your  children,  and,  carrying  them 
into  your  house,  distributes  them,  while  you  are  looking 
on,  and,  kissing  the  little  ones,  exclaims,  "  Darling  off- 
spring of  an  incomparable  father!"  "When  you  are  pur- 
chasing shoes  in  company  with  him,  he  says  that  your 
own  foot  is  of  a  far  handsomer  shape  than  any  shoe  can 
be.  "When  you  are  about  to  pay  a  visit  to  any  of  your 
friends,  the  flatterer  runs  on  before,  and  says,  "  The  great 
man  is  coming;"  and  then,  turning  back,  says,  "I  have 
announced  you."  I^ay,  he  can  even  serve  you,  at  a 
breath,  with  any  trifle  from  the  woman's  market.  He 
is  the  first  of  your  guests  to  j)raise  the  wine,  and,  keeping 
close  at  your  side,  saj'S,  "How  delicately  you  eat!"  then, 
taking  something  from  the  table  and  holding  it  up  to  the 
company,  says,  "How  very  fine  this  is!"  Then  he  asks 
you  if  you  be  not  cold,  and  if  he  shall  not  put  something 
more  over  you,  at  the  same  time  covering  you  with  some 
garment.     Then,  stooping  forward,  ho  whispers  into  your 


388  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.    [Theophrastus 

eai',  and,  even  while  conversing  with  others,  keeps  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  you.  In  the  theatre  he  takes  the  cushions 
from  the  servant  and  spreads  them  under  you  himself. 
He  says  that  your  house  is  finely  built,  your  garden  beau- 
tifully laid  out,  and  that  your  picture  is  most  beautiful  and 
just  like  you.  In  short,  the  flatterer  is  continually  saying 
and  doing  those  things  by  which  he  thinks  he  shall  gain 
favor. 

THE   OSTENTATIOUS. 

The  absurd  vanity  of  the  j)urse-proud  man  leads  him  to 
make  as  many  false  pretensions  to  wealth  as  the  veriest 
knave  who  lives  by  seeming  to  be  what  he  is  not.  A 
boaster  of  this  sort  frequents  the  Exchange,  and,  while  he 
gathers  strangers  around  him,  talks  of  the  rich  cargoes 
which  he  pretends  to  have  on  the  seas ;  then  he  tells  what 
loans  he  has  abroad,  and  what  is  the  amount  of  interest 
upon  them.  Or  you  may  see  him  stalking  along  the  road, 
while  he  leans  on  the  arm  of  a  chance  companion,  whom  he 
informs  that  he  was  one  of  those  who  served  in  the  expedi- 
tion into  Asia  under  Alexander,  and  that  in  the  sj^oil  that 
fell  to  his  share  there  were  many  costly  vessels  studded  with 
gems.  This  leads  him  to  talk  of  Eastern  magnificence,  and 
he  stoutly  contends  that  the  artificers  of  Asia  are  incom- 
parably superior  to  those  of  Europe.  He  pretends  to  have 
received  letters  from  Antipater,  stating  that  the  victorious 
king  had  just  returned  to  Macedonia.  He  declares  that, 
although  he  possesses  the  costly  license  for  exporting 
timber,  he  has  forborne  to  make  use  of  it,  lest  he  should 
give  occasion  to  the  malicious  remarks  of  some  who  would 
envy  him  his  jDrivilege.  In  a  company  of  strangers  he 
recounts  that  during  the  late  scarcity  he  expended  more 
than  five  talents  in  corn,  to  be  distributed  among  the  poorer 
citizens ;  and,  doubting  whether  he  may  not  have  under- 
rated the  sum,  he  requests  one  of  the  company  to  assist 


Theophrastus]  EVERF-DAF  CHARACTERS.  389 

him  in  going  through  a  calculation,  by  making  a  list  of 
those  who  were  the  objects  of  his  munificence,  and  the 
relief  afi'orded  to  each ;  when,  pretending  to  name  above 
six  hundred  persons,  the  result  proves  that  instead  of  five 
he  must  actually  have  expended  not  less  than  ten  talents 
on  the  occasion.  JSTor  does  he  include  in  this  computation 
the  maintenance  of  his  galleys,  nor  sundry  disbursements 
consequent  on  the  gratuitous  discharge  of  public  business. 
He  goes  to  the  stalls  where  the  finest  horses  are  exposed 
for  sale,  and  pretends  to  bid  for  them ;  or  at  the  shop  of 
the  robe-maker  he  requests  a  cloak  to  be  shown  him  of  the 
value  of  two  talents,  and  then  takes  occasion  to  reprove  his 
attendant  for  not  being  furnished  with  gold.  He  lives  in 
a  hired  house,  yet  he  assui-cs  a  visitor  ignorant  of  his  affairs 
that  he  inherited  the  house  from  his  father,  but  that,  find- 
ing it  too  small  for  the  entertainment  of  his  friends,  he 
intends  to  sell  it. 

THE   BUSYBODY. 

In  the  proffered  services  of  the  busybody  there  is  much 
of  the  affectation  of  kind-heartedness,  and  little  efficient  aid. 
When  the  execution  of  some  project  is  in  agitation,  he  will 
undertake  a  j)art  that  greatly  exceeds  his  ability.  After  a 
point  in  dispute  has  been  settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 
parties,  he  starts  up  and  insists  on  some  trivial  objection. 
He  directs  the  waiter  at  a  banquet  to  mix  more  liquor  than 
the  company  present  can  possibly  drink.  He  interferes  in 
a  quarrel  between  parties  of  whom  he  knows  nothing.  Ho 
offers  to  be  guide  in  a  forest,  and  presently  he  is  bewildered 
and  obliged  to  confess  that  he  is  ignorant  of  the  way.  He 
will  accost  a  general  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and  inquire 
when  battle  is  to  be  given,  or  what  orders  he  intends  to 
issue  for  the  next  day.  He  is  wont  to  give  his  father 
information  of  his  mother's  movements.  Although  the 
physician  has  forbidden  wine  to  his  patient,  he  will  never- 
I.  33* 


390  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Moschus 

thelesg  administer  some, — ^.just,  as  he  says,  by  way  of 
making  an  experiment.  When  his  wife  dies  he  inscribes 
on  her  monument  not  only  her  name  and  qualit}^,  but 
those  also  of  her  husband,  father,  and  mothei',  and  adds, 
"All  these  were  persons  of  extraordinary  virtue."  He 
cannot  take  an  oath  in  court  without  informing  the  by- 
standers that  it  is  not  the  first  time  his  evidence  has  been 
called  for. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  BION. 

MOSCIIUS. 

[Moschus,  the  third  of  the  famous  Sicilian  trio  of  poets,  was  a  native 
of  Syracuse,  and  a  contemporary  of  Bion  (about  300  B.C.)  We  know 
nothing  of  his  life.  The  idyls  of  Moschus  seem  patterned  after  those 
of  Bion,  and  resemble  them  in  beauty  of  style,  luxuriance  of  imagery, 
and  graceful  softness  of  sentiment.  They  are  somewhat  overloaded 
with  ornament,  yet  the  beauty  of  their  language  has  few  rivals.  His 
"  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Bion"  is  the  best-known  of  his  works.  We 
subjoin  a  portion  of  this,  in  Fawkes's  translation.] 

Ye  woods,  with  grief  your  waving  summits  bow ; 
Ye  Dorian  fountains,  murmur  as  ye  flow, 
From  weeping  urns  your  copious  sorrows  shed, 
And  bid  the  rivers  mourn  for  Bion  dead. 
Ye  shady  groves,  in  robes  of  sable  hue 
Bewail ;  ye  plants,  in  pearly  drops  of  dew ; 
Ye  drooping  flowers,  diffuse  a  languid  breath, 
And  die  with  sorrow  at  sweet  Bion's  death. 
Ye  roses,  change  from  red  to  sickly  pale, 
And  all  ye  bright  anemones  bewail. 
Now,  Hyacinth,  thy  doleful  letters  show. 
Inscribed  in  larger  characters  of  woe,* 

*  The  letters  Ai,  the  Greek  exclamation  for  woe,  were  supposed  to  be 
seen  on  the  leaves  of  the  hvacinth. 


MoscHUs]     ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  BION.  301 

Poi*  Bion  dead,  the  sweetest  shepherd  swain. 

Begin,  Sicilian  Muse,  begin  the  mournful  strain ! 
Ye  nightingales,  that  perch  among  the  sprays, 
Tune  to  melodious  elegy  your  lays. 
And  bid  the  streams  of  Arethuse  deplore 
Bion's  sad  fate  ;  loved  Bion  is  no  more  ! 
Nor  verse  nor  music  would  his  life  prolong ; 
He  died,  and  with  him  died  the  Doric  song.  .  .  . 

Begin,  Sicilian  Muse,  begin  the  mournful  lay ! 
Alas !  the  meanest  flowers  which  gardens  yield. 
The  vilest  weeds  which  flourish  in  the  field, 
Which  dead  in  wintry  sepulchres  appear, 
Eevive  in  spring,  and  bloom  another  year. 
But  we,  the  great,  the  brave,  the  learned,  the  wise, 
Soon  as  the  hand  of  death  has  closed  our  eyes, 
In  tombs  forgotten  lie ;  no  suns  restore ; 
"We  sleep,  forever  sleep,  to  wake  no  more. 
Thou  too  liest  buried  with  the  silent  dead  : 
Fate  spares  the  witlings,  but  thy  vital  thread 
Snapped  cruel  Chance !  and  now  'tis  my  hard  lot 
To  hear  the  dull  bards  (but  I  envy  not) 
Grate  their  harsh  sonnets,  flashy,  rude,  and  vain. 

[Shelley's  translation  of  two  short  poems  of  Moschus  are  so  grace- 
fully done  that  we  here  append  them.  Of  the  first  of  these  Edwin 
Arnold  says,  "This  sonnet  or  little  idyl  of  his  has  been  famous  ever 
since  the  poet  made  it,  lying  amid  the  asphodel  by  Arethusa."] 

When  winds  that  move  not  its  calm  surface  sweep 

The  azure  sea,  I  love  the  land  no  more  : 
The  smiles  of  the  serene  and  tranquil  deej) 

Tempt  my  unquiet  mind.     But  when  the  roar 
Of  ocean's  gray  abyss  resounds,  and  foam 

Gathers  upon  the  sea,  and  vast  waves  burst, 
I  turn  from  that  drear  aspect  to  the  home 

Of  earth  and  its  deep  woods,  where,  interspersed, 


392  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tacitus 

When  winds  blow  loud,  pines  make  sweet  melody : 
Whose  house  is  some  lone  bark,  whose  toil  the  sea, 
Whose  prey  the  wandering  fish — an  evil  lot 

Ilath  chosen.     But  I  my  languid  limbs  will  fling 
Beneath  the  plane,  where  the  brook's  murmuring 
Moves  the  calm  spirit,  but  disturbs  it  not. 

[The  second  of  these  poems,  "a  pretty,  sparkling  piece  of  Greek," 
is  thus,  says  Arnold,  "rendered  note  by  note  throughout  its  playful 
music  by  the  same  delicate  English  voice." 

Pan  loved  his  neighbor  Echo,  but  that  child 

Of  Earth  and  Air  pined  for  the  Satyr  leaping ; 
The  Satyr  loved  with  wasting  madness  blind 

The  bright  nymph  Lyda :  so  the  three  went  weeping. 
As  Pan  loved  Echo,  Echo  loved  the  Satyr, 

The  Satyr  Lyda, — and  so  love  consumed  them. 
And  so  to  each,  which  was  a  woful  matter, 

To  bear  what  they  inflicted  Justice  doomed  them: 
For  inasmuch  as  each  might  hate  the  lover. 

Each  loving,  so  was  hated.     Ye  that  love  not, 
Be  warned ;  in  thought  turn  this  example  over, 

That  when  ye  love  the  like  return  ye  prove  not ! 


THE  FALL  OF  NERO. 

TACITUS. 

[Cains  Cornelius  Tacitus,  who  ranks  among  the  greatest  historians 
either  of  ancient  or  of  modern  times,  has  left  us  scarcely  any  record  of 
his  personal  history.  Even  of  his  parentage,  and  of  the  time  and 
place  of  his  birth  and  death,  we  are  in  doubt,  though  it  is  believed 
he  was  born  about  54  a.d.      He  received  marks  of  favor  from  the 


Tacitus]  THE  FALL   OF  NERO.  393 

emperors  Vespasian,  Titus,  and  Domitian,  under  whom  he  held  impor- 
tant public  offices,  was  very  intimate  with  the  younger  Pliny,  and 
probably  lived  till  after  the  death  of  Trajan,  117  a.d.  The  age  in 
which  he  lived  and  wrote  was  a  happier  one,  and  more  favorable  to 
literature,  than  that  of  his  predecessors.  The  shameless  licentiousness 
of  Kome  became,  under  Trajan,  measurably  checked,  while  the  city 
was  relieved  of  the  teri-ible  tyranny  under  which  it  had  so  long 
groaned.  Tacitus  was  among  the  first  of  Koman  historians  who 
dared  to  speak  freely  concerning  the  deeds  of  the  tyrannous  emperors, 
and  he  has  left  on  record  a  startling  picture  of  their  reigns. 

Tacitus  in  some  respects  stands  at  the  head  of  Roman  prose-writers, 
among  whom  he  occupies  the  same  position  as  Thucydides  did  among 
the  Greeks.  For  love  of  truth,  power  of  condensation,  sagaciovis  ob- 
servation, wise  reflection,  and  picturesque  description,  his  works  are  of 
the  highest  value,  while  his  characters  are  drawn  with  a  dramatic 
vigor  which  is  highlj'  eifective.  We  select,  from  Murphy's  transla- 
tion, the  author's  dramatic  story  of  the  death  of  Nero,  one  of  the  most 
impressive  pictures  ever  drawn  of  the  fate  of  a  tyrant  and  coward.] 

Nero  was  now  at  the  summit  of  his  wishes.  He  tri- 
umphed in  thp  pride  of  his  imagination  over  all  his  enemies. 
He  had  seen  on  his  way  from  Naples  a  monumental  sculp- 
ture representing  a  Gaul  overcome  by  a  Eoman  soldier 
and  dragged  along  the  ground  by  the  hair  of  his  head. 
The  gods,  he  said,  presented  that  object  to  him  as  an  omen 
of  victory,  and  their  decree  was  happily  fulfilled.  Amidst 
all  his  frantic  joy,  his  worst  enemies  were  in  his  own 
breast.  His  vices  were  undermining  him  with  the  army 
as  well  as  the  people.  He  raised  immoderate  supplies  of 
money,  and  squandered  the  whole  with  wild  profusion. 
An  occurrence  happened  by  which  the  city  was  thrown 
into  a  violent  ferment.  A  ship  arrived  from  Alexandria, 
supposed  to  be  loaded  with  corn,  and  therefore  matter  of 
joy  to  the  populace,  who  dreaded  a  dearth  of  provisions. 
It  may  easily  be  imagined  what  a  turn  their  passions  took 
when  it  was  known  that  the  vessel  brought  a  freight  of 
sand  from  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  to  smooth  the  arena  for 


394  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tacitus 

wrestlers  and  gladiators.  The  disappointment  excited  at 
first  a  laugh  of  scorn  and  indignation ;  vulgar  wit  and 
scurrilous  jests  made  Nero  an  object  of  contempt;  and 
from  contempt  the  transition  to  hatred,  rage,  and  fury  is 
always  sure,  and  often  instantaneous.  The  public  clamor 
was  loud  and  violent :  the  j)eople  with  one  voice  wished 
to  be  delivered  from  a  monster;  they  lamented  the  loss  of 
Vindex ;  and  the  pretorian  guards,  who  had  been  the  sup- 
port of  a  pernicious  reign,  began  to  murmur  discontent 
and  to  show  manifest  symptoms  of  dissatisfaction. 

[At  this  juncture  Nympliidius  and  Tigellinus,  two  of  Nero's  vicious 
associates,  and  joint  prefects  of  the  pretorian  camp,  turned  traitor  to 
him.] 

They  began  by  bribes  to  insinuate  themselves  into  the 
affections  of  the  jjretorian  guards,  and,  when  they  had 
sufficiently  prepared  them  for  a  revolt,  whispered  to  the 
senate  that  Nero  was  deserted  on  every  side ;  that  he  had 
not  a  friend  left ;  and  that,  by  consequence,  the  whole 
legislative  authority  was  in  the  hands  of  the  fathers. 
That  assembly  remained  for  some  time  in  suspense,  timid, 
wavering,  and  irresolute.  The  conjuncture  was  dark  and 
gloomy.  Nero  was  alarmed :  he  j)aused  from  his  pleasures, 
and  saw  that  some  deep  design  was  in  agitation.  To  pre- 
vent it  by  one  bold  effort,  he  formed  a  resolution  to  massa- 
cre the  senate,  and,  after  setting  fire  to  the  city  a  second 
time,  to  let  loose  his  whole  collection  of  wild  beasts  to 
devour  the  people  in  the  general  consternation,  and  save 
himself  by  flying  into  Egypt.  This  horrible  scheme  was 
no  sooner  conceived  than  brought  to  light  by  one  of  his 
favorite  eunuchs.  This  miscreant  had  been  for  some  time 
subservient  to  the  vices  of  his  master,  and  lived  with  him 
in  the  deai"est  intimacy.  From  a  person  so  beloved  noth- 
ing was  concealed.     lie  was  the  confidential  friend  of  the 


Tacitus]  THE  FALL   OF  NERO.  395 

emperor,  not  only  in  scenes  of  riot,  but  also  in  the  most 
important  counsels.  But  the  jealousy  of  an  upstart,  raised 
above  his  base  condition,  is  easily  alarmed.  The  favorite 
thought  himself  slighted.  His  pride  was  roused,  and,  to 
revenge  the  injury,  he  discovered  the  particulars  of  the 
intended  massacre. 

A  design  so  black  and  horrible  raised  the  general  in- 
dicjnation.  The  fathei's  trembled  for  themselves ;  but  the 
habit  of  slavery  had  debased  their  faculties.  They  saw 
that  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  and  yet  could  not  resolve  to 
act  with  vigor. 

[Nymphidius  tried  to  inspire  them  with  courage.  To  the  pretorian 
guards  he  promised,  in  Galba's  name,  immense  rewards,  a  promise 
which  afterwards  proved  fatal  to  Galba.  Then  he  went  with  his  con- 
federate to  Nero,  and,  with  an  air  of  deep  affliction,  told  him  that  all 
was  lost,  and  counselled  him  to  fly  to  Egypt.] 

Nero  saw  the  sad  reverse  of  his  affairs.  From  his 
armies  he  could  expect  no  support.  The  troops  on  their 
march  towards  the  Caspian  Sea  had  been  recalled,  but  a 
long  repose  was  necessary  to  revive  the  spirits  of  men 
wellnigh  exhausted  by  incessant  fatigue.  The  legions 
from  Illyricum  returned  with  alienated  minds.  Scorning 
to  disguise  their  sentiments,  they  sent  a  deputation  to 
Yii'ginius  on  the  Upper  Rhine,  expressing  their  ardent 
desire  that  he  would  yield  to  the  request  of  the  legions 
under  his  command,  and  accept  the  imperial  dignity. 
Eight  Batavian  cohorts  had  shown  a  spirit  of  dissatisfac- 
tion, and  the  pretorian  guards  were  under  the  influence  of 
Nymphidius. 

In  this  desperate  situation  Nero  looked  round  for  assist- 
ance ;  but  he  looked  in  vain.  He  wandered  through  the 
apartments  of  his  palace,  and  all  was  solitude.  He,  who 
but  a  few  days  before  was  the  god  of  the  senate  and  the 


396  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tacitus 

people,  was  now  in  dread  of  being  their  victim.  Con- 
science began  to  exercise  her  rights.  Her  voice  was  heard. 
Nero  reviewed  his  crimes,  and  shuddered  with  horror  and 
remorse.  He  repeated  in  despair  and  anguish  of  heart  a 
line  which,  when  personating  (Edipus,  he  had  often  de- 
claimed on  the  public  stage  :  "  My  wife,  my  father,  and 
my  mother  doom  me  dead."  Of  all  his  courtier- fry,  and 
all  his  instruments  of  guilt,  not  one  adhered  to  him  in  the 
hour  of  distress,  except  Sporus  the  eunuch,  Phaon,  an 
enfranchised  slave,  and  Epaphroditus,  his  secretary.  He 
gave  orders  to  his  soldiers  on  duty  to  proceed  with  all 
expedition  to  Ostia  and  j)repare  a  ship,  that  he  might  em- 
bark for  Egypt.  The  men  were  not  willing  to  obey.  One 
of  them  asked  him,  in  half  a  line  from  Virgil,  "  Is  it  then 
so  wretched  a  thing  to  die  ?"  He  went  to  the  Servilian 
gardens,  carrying  with  him  a  phial  of  swift-speeding 
poison  which  had  been  prepared  by  the  well-known  Lo- 
custa ;  but  his  resolution  failed.  He  returned  to  his  cham- 
ber, and  threw  himself  on  his.  bed.  The  agitations  of  his 
mind  allowed  no  rest.  He  started  up,  and  called  for  some 
friendly  hand  to  end  his  wretched  being.  That  office  no 
one  was  willing  to  perform,  and  he  himself  wanted  forti- 
tude. Driven  to  the  last  despair,  and  frantic  with  remorse 
and  fear,  he  cried  out,  in  doleful  accents,  "My  friends 
desert  me,  and  I  cannot  find  an  enemy." 

He  rushed  forth  from  his  palace,  as  if  with  intent  to 
throw  himself  into  the  Tiber.  He  changed  his  mind,  and 
thought  of  flying  into  Spain,  there  to  surrender  at  discre- 
tion to  the  mercy  of  G-alba.  But  no  ship  was  ready  at 
Ostia.  Various  projects  presented  themselves  to  his  mind 
in  quick  succession,  increasing  the  tumult  of  his  passions, 
and  serving  only  to  distract  him  more.  To  try  his  powers 
of  eloquence  was  another  expedient  that  occurred  to  him. 
For  that  purpose  he  proposed  to  go  forth  in  a  mourning 


Tacitus]  THE  FALL   OF  NERO.  397 

garb  to  the  forum,  and  there,  by  a  pathetic  speech,  obtain 
his  pardon  from  the  people.  Should  their  obdurate  hearts 
remain  impenetrable  to  the  soft  influence  of  persuasive 
oratory,  and  refuse  to  reinstate  their  emperor  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  his  prerogative,  he  had  no  doubt  but  he  could, 
at  the  worst,  wring  from  them  the  government  of  Egypt, 
where,  in  the  character  of  prefect,  he  might  give  free  scope 
to  his  inordinate  passions.  This  project  seemed  to  promise 
success;  but  a  ray  of  reflection  struck  him  with  sudden 
horror.  The  populace,  without  waiting  to  hear  the  divine 
accents  of  that  harmonious  voice,  might  break  out  into 
open  sedition,  and  in  their  fury  tear  their  prince  limb  from 
limb.  What  course  could  he  pursue?  Where  could  he 
hide  himself  ?  He  looked  round  in  wild  despair,  and  asked 
his  remaining  companions,  "  Is  there  no  lurking-place,  no 
safe  recess,  where  I  may  have  time  to  consider  what  is  to 
be  done?''  Phaon,  his  freedman,  proposed  to  conduct  him 
to  an  obscure  villa  which  he  held  in  his  possession,  at  the 
distance  of  about  four  miles  from  Rome. 

'Nero  embraced  the  otfer.  There  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
He  went  forth  in  all  his  wretchedness,  without  a  shoe  to 
his  feet,  nothing  on  him  but  his  close  tunic,  no  outside 
garment,  and  no  imjjerial  robe.  In  order  to  disguise  him- 
self, he  snatched  an  old  rusty  cloak,  and,  throwing  it  over 
his  shoulders,  covered  his  head,  and  held  a  handkerchief 
before  his  face.  In  that  condition  he  mounted  his  horse, 
submitting  with  a  dastard  spirit  to  an  ignominious  flight, 
without  any  attendants  except  Phaon,  the  freedman, 
Epaphroditus,  the  secretary,  and  Sporus,  the  eunuch,  with 
another,  whose  name  Aurelius  Victor  says  was  j^eojihytus. 
In  this  manner  Nei'O  passed  the  last  of  his  nights.  At  the 
dawn  of  day  the  pretoi'ian  guards  deserted  their  station  at 
the  palace  and  joined  their  comrades  in  the  camp,  where, 
by  the  influence  and  direction  of  Nymphidius,  Galba  was 
I.  31 


398  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tacitus 

proclaimed  emperor.  The  senate  met,  and  after  a  short 
debate  confirmed  the  nomination  of  the  pretorian  guards. 
The  time  was  at  length  arrived  when  that  assembly  could 
act  with  authority.  They  resolved  to  mark  the  day  by  a 
decree  worthy  of  a  Eoman  senate.  With  one  voice  they 
declared  the  tyrant  who  had  trampled  on  all  laws  human 
and  divine  a  public  enemy,  and  by  their  sentence  con- 
demned him  to  suffer  death  according  to  the  rigor  of  ancient 
laws  and  the  practice  of  the  old  repubhc. 

Nero,  in  the  mean  time,  made  the  best  of  his  way  towards 
the  freedman's  villa.  He  heard  the  pretorian  camp  ring 
with  acclamations,  and  the  name  of  Galba  sounded  in  his 
car.  A  man  at  work  in  a  field  adjoining  to  the  road  started 
up  at  the  sound  of  horsemen  pressing  forward  with  expe- 
dition, and,  "  Behold !"  he  said,  "  those  people  are  in  pursuit 
of  Nero."  Another  asked,  "  What  do  they  say  of  Nero  in 
the  city  ?"  As  they  drew  near  to  Phaon's  house  Nero  was 
alarmed  by  a  sudden  accident.  His  horse  started  at  a  dead 
carcass  that  lay  on  the  side  of  the  road ;  and  the  veil,  in 
consequence  of  the  violent  motion,  falling  from  his  face, 
a  veteran,  who  had  been  dismissed  from  the  service,  knew 
his  master,  and  saluted  him  by  his  name.  The  fear  of  being 
detected  made  the  fugitive  prince  and  his  followers  push 
forward  with  their  utmost  speed.  Being  arrived  at  a  small 
distance  from  the  house,  they  did  not  think  it  safe  to  enter 
it  in  a  public  manner.  Nero  dismounted  and  crossed  a 
field  overgrown  with  reeds.  Phaon  advised  him  to  lie  con- 
cealed in  a  sand-pit  till  he  prepared  a  subterraneous  passage 
into  the  house.  "  That,"  said  Nero,  "  were  to  bury  myself 
alive."  He  scooped  up  some  water  out  of  a  muddy  ditch, 
and,  having  allayed  his  thirst,  asked,  in  a  doleful  tone,  "  la 
that  the  beverage  to  which  Nero  has  been  used?"  An 
opening  was  made  in  the  wall  on  one  side  of  the  man- 
sion, and  Nero  crept  through  it.     He  was  conducted  to  a 


Tacitus]  THE  FALL  OF  NERO.  399 

chamber,  where  he  saw  nothing  but  wretchedness.  In 
that  mean  room  he  threw  himself  on  a  meaner  bed,  and 
asked  for  some  nourishment.  They  offered  him  bread ; 
but  it  was  so  black  that  his  stomach  sickened  at  the  sight. 
The  water  was  foul ;  but  thirst  obliged  him  to  SAvallow  the 
nauseous  draught.  His  friends  saw  that  no  hope  was  left : 
they  dreaded  his  impending  ruin,  and  advised  him  to  rescue 
himself  by  one  manly  deed  from  an  ignominious  death. 
Nero  signified  his  assent;  but  he  studied  delay,  fond  to  linger 
still  in  life.  Preparations  for  his  funeral  were  necessary. 
He  ordered  a  trench  to  be  dug,  suited  to  the  dimensions  of 
his  body,  a  quantity  of  wood  to  be  collected  for  the  funeral 
pile,  and  pieces  of  marble  to  be  brought  to  form  a  decent 
covering  for  his  grave.  He  bewailed  his  unhappy  lot: 
tears  gushed  at  inteiwals :  he  heaved  a  piteous  sigh,  and 
said  to  his  friends,  "  What  a  musician  the  world  will  lose !" 
During  this  scone  of  delay  and  cowardice  a  messenger, 
according  to  Phaon's  orders,  arrived  with  papers  from 
Eome.  Nero  seized  the  packet.  He  read  with  eagerness, 
and  found  himself  not  only  declared  a  public  enemy,  but 
condemned  to  suffer  death  with  the  rigor  of  ancient  usage. 
He  asked,  "  What  kind  of  death  is  that  ?  and  what  is 
ancient  usage?"  He  was  told  that,  by  the  law  of  the 
old  republic,  every  traitor,  with  his  head  fastened  between 
two  stakes,  and  his  body  entirely  naked,  suffered  the  pains 
of  a  slow  death  under  the  lictor's  rod.  The  fear  of  that 
ignominious  punishment  inspired  Nero  with  a  short-lived 
passion,  which  for  the  moment  had  the  appearance  of 
courage.  He  drew  two  daggers  which  he  had  brought 
with  him,  and,  as  if  meditating  some  prodigious  deed,  tried 
the  points  of  both,  then  calmly  replaced  them  in  their 
scabbards,  saying,  "The  fatal  moment  is  not  yet  come." 
He  turned  to  Sporus,  and  requested  him  to  begin  the 
funeral   lamentation.     "  Sing  the  melancholy  dirge  j    and 


400  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Tacitus 

offer  the  last  obsequies  to  your  friend."  He  cast  his  eyes 
around  hira :  "  And  why,"  he  said,  "  why  will  not  some  one 
despatch  himself,  and  teach  me  how  to  die  ?"  He  paused 
for  a  moment,  and  shed  a  flood  of  tears.  He  started  up 
and  cried  out,  in  a  tone  of  wild  despair,  "  Nero,  this  is 
infamy ;  you  linger  in  disgrace :  this  is  no  time  for  de- 
jected passions  ;  the  moment  calls  for  manly  fortitude." 

These  words  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  he  heard  the 
Bound  of  horses  advancing  with  speed  towards  the  house. 
This  he  signified  by  repeating  a  line  from  Homer.  The 
fact  was,  the  senate  had  given  orders  that  he  should  be 
brought  back  to  Eome  to  undergo  the  judgment  which 
they  had  pronounced ;  and  the  officers  charged  with  that 
commission  were  near  at  hand.  Nero  seized  his  dagger 
and  stabbed  himself  in  the  throat.  The  stroke  was  too 
feeble.  Epaphroditus  lent  his  assistance,  and  the  next 
blow  was  a  mortal  wound.  A  centurion  entered  the  room, 
and,  seeing  Nero  in  a  mangled  condition,  ran  immediately 
to  his  assistance,  pretending  that  he  came  with  a  friendly 
hand  to  bind  the  wound  and  save  the  emperor's  life.  Nero 
had  not  breathed  his  last.  He  raised  his  languid  eyes,  and 
faintly  said,  "You  come  too  late:  is  this  your  fidelity?" 
He  spoke,  and  expired.  The  ferocity  of  his  nature  was 
still  visible  in  his  countenance.  His  eyes  fixed  and  glaring, 
and  every  feature  swelled  with  warring  passions,  he  looked 
more  stern,  more  grim  and  terrible,  than  ever. 

Nero  died  in  the  thirty-second  year  of  his  age,  on  the 
eleventh  day  of  June,  after  a  reign  of  thirteen  years,  seven 
months,  and  twenty-eight  daj'S.  The  news  was  received 
at  Eome  with  all  demonstrations  of  joy.  The  populace 
ran  wild  about  the  streets  with  the  cap  of  liberty  on  their 
heads.  The  forum  sounded  with  acclamations.  Icelus, 
a  freedman,  who  managed  Galba's  affairs  at  Eome,  had 
been  thrown  into  prison  by  Nero ;  but  on  the  sudden  ac- 


Various]  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY.  401 

cession  of  his  master  he  was  now  become  a  man  in  power 
and  high  authority.  He  consented  that  Nero's  body- 
should  be  committed  to  the  flames  at  the  place  where  he 
died.  The  funeral  rites  were  performed  without  delay 
and  without  pomp.  His  remains  were  conveyed  to  the 
monumental  vault  of  the  Domitian  family,  his  paternal 
ancestors.  The  urn  was  carried  by  two  female  servants, 
and  Acte,  the  famous  concubine.  The  secrecy  with  which 
the  obsequies  were  perfoi'med  was  the  cause  of  some  un- 
toward consequences  that  afterwards  disturbed  the  com- 
monwealth. A  doubt  remained  in  the  minds  of  many 
whether  Nero  had  not  made  his  escape  into  Asia  or 
Egypt.  The  men  who,  under  a  corrupt  and  profligate 
reign,  had  led  a  life  of  pleasure,  and  were  by  consequence 
enamoured  of  Nero's  vices,  paid  every  mark  of  respect  to 
his  memory,  willing  at  the  same  time  to  believe  that  he 
still  survived.  They  raised  a  tomb,  and  for  several  years 
dressed  it  with  the  flowers  of  spring  and  summer.  The 
Parthians  honored  his  memory,  and,  being  afterwards  de- 
luded by  an  impostor  who  assumed  the  name  of  Nero, 
were  ready  with  the  strength  of  their  nation  to  espouse 
his  cause.  The  race  of  Cassars  ended  with  Nero :  he  was 
the  last  and  perhaj)s  the  worst  of  that  illustrious  house. 


GREEK  ANTHOLOGY. 

VARIOUS. 


[In  addition  to  the  collected  works  of  the  poets  of  Greece,  there  are 

many  fugitive  poems,  usually  brief,  but  often  of  much  merit,  extending 

over  a  wide  range  of  time,  and  the  work  of  distinguished  men,  which 

have  been  preserved  in  the  several  collections  known  as  Anthologies, 

l.—aa  3-4* 


402  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

or  poetic  Garlands.  The  earliest  of  these  collections  is  that  made  by 
Meleager,  a  Syrian,  Lorn  about  96  B.C.  He  was  himself  an  able  poet, 
and  contributed  many  fine  epigrams  to  his  collection.  Similar  an- 
thologies were  made  at  later  periods.  The  verses  thus  preserved  have 
been  praised  by  some  and  decried  by  others.  They  are  not  epigrams 
in  the  modern  sense,  but  are  rather  short  poems  on  various  subjects, 
with  only  occasionall}'-  tlie  pungency  and  wit  of  the  modern  epigram. 
We  select  some  examples  from  the  more  witty  of  these  poems.] 

CRAY    HAIRS. 

A  hoary  head  with  sense  combined 
Claims  veneration  from  mankind ; 
But  if  with  folly  joined,  it  bears 
The  badge  of  ignominious  years. 

Gray  hairs  will  pass  for  sapience  well 
Until  your  tongue  dissolve  the  spell ; 
Then,  as  in  youth,  'twill  all  appear 
No  longer  sense,  but  merely  hair. 

Philo. 

DISCONTENT. 

Young,  I  was  poor ;  when  old,  I  wealthy  grew ; 
TJnblest,  alas !  in  want  and  plenty  too. 
When  I  could  all  enjoy,  Fate  nothing  gave  ; 
Now  I  can  naught  enjoy,  I  all  things  have. 

Anonymous. 

LITTLE   THINGS. 

Why  should  little  things  be  blamed  ? 
Little  things  for  grace  are  famed. 
Love,  the  winged  and  the  wild, — 
Love  is  but  a  little  child. 

Damocharis. 

DEATH. 

With  courage  seek  the  kingdom  of  the  dead ; 
The  path  before  you  lies, — 


Various]  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY.  403 

It  is  not  hard  to  find,  nor  tread ; 

No  rocks  to  climb,  no  lanes  to  thread ; 

But  broad  and  straight  and  even  still, 

And  ever  gently  slopes  down-hill : 

You  cannot  miss  it  though  you  shut  your  eyes, 

Leonidas. 
the  frenzy  of  love. 

Haste  thee,  Dorcas,  haste,  and  bear 

This  message  to  thy  lady  fair ; 

And  say  besides, — nay,  pray  begone ! 

Tell,  tell  her  all !     Eun,  Dorcas,  run ! 

Whither  so  fast  ?  a  moment  stay ; 

Don't  run  with  half  your  tale  away; 

I've  more  to  tell.     Alas !  I  rave ; 

I  know  not  what  to  do  or  have. 

Go,  tell  her  all,  whate'er  you  know, 

Whate'er  you  think ;  go,  Dorcas,  go ! 

But  why  a  message  send  before 

When  we're  together  at  her  door  ? 

Meleaqer. 
ancestry. 

Good  gossip,  if  you  love  me,  prate  no  more : 
What  are  your  genealogies  to  me  ? 
Away  to  those  who  have  more  need  of  them ! 
Let  the  degenerate  wretches,  if  they  can, 
Dig  up  dead  honor  from  their  fathers'  tombs 
And  boast  it  for  their  own.     Vain,  empty  boast, 
When  every  common  fellow  that  they  meet, 
If  accident  had  not  cut  oif  the  scroll, 
Could  show  a  line  of  ancestry  as  long. 

Epicharmtjs. 
on  a  fowler. 

With  reeds  and  birdlime,  from  the  desert  air 
Eumelus  gathered  free  though  scanty  fare. 


404  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

No  loi'dly  patron's  hand  he  deigned  to  kiss ; 
No  luxury  knew  save  liberty,  nor  bliss. 
Thrice  thirty  years  he  lived,  and  to  his  heirs 
Bequeathed  his  reeds,  his  birdlime,  and  his  snares. 

ISODORUS. 

[Of  the  dedicatory  poems  the  following  is  the  most  celebrated.    It  is 
ascribed  to  Plato.] 

Yenus,  take  this  votive  glass, 
Since  I  am  not  what  I  was ; 
What  I  shall  hereafter  be, 
Venus,  let  me  never  see. 

[This  idea  was  thus  expanded  by  Julian,  the  Egyptian.] 

I,   Lais,   who   on   conquered    Greece   looked    down   with 

haughty  pride, 
I,  to  whose  courts,  in  other  days,  a  swarm  of  lovers  hied, 
O  ever  lovely  Venus,  now  this  mirror  give  to  thee. 
For  my  present  self  I  would  not,  and  my  past  I  cannot, 

see. 

[From  the  celebrated  poetess  Erinna  we  select  the  following  sepul- 
chral ode,  one  of  the  few  remains  of  her  verses.] 

The  virgin  Myrtis'  sepulchre  am  I : 

Creep  softly  to  the  pillared  mount  of  woe. 
And  whisper  to  the  grave,  in  earth  below, 
"  Grave,  thou  art  envious  in  thy  cruelty  !" 
The  very  torch  that  laughing  Hymen  bore 
To  light  the  virgin  to  the  bridegroom's  door, 
With  that  same  torch  the  bridegroom  lights  the  fire 
That  dimly  glimmers  on  her  funeral  pyre. 
Thou,  too,  O  Hymen,  bidd'st  the  nuptial  ray 
In  elegiac  meanings  die  away. 


Various]  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY.  405 

DIDACTIC, 

All  say  that  you  are  rich ;  I  say,  not  so ; 
You're  poor ;  wealth  only  by  its  use  we  know. 
What  you  enjoy  is  yours ;  what  for  your  heirs 
You  hoard,  already  is  not  yours,  but  theirs. 

Anonymous. 
AMATORY. 

But  I  would  be  a  mirror, 

So  thou  mayst  pleased  behold  me  ; 
Or  robe,  with  close  embraces 

About  thy  limbs  to  fold  me ; 
A  crystal  fount,  to  lave  thee ; 

Sweet  oils,  thy  hair  to  deck ; 
Azure,  to  press  thy  bosom ; 

Or  pearl,  to  gem  thy  neck ; 
Or,  might  I  worship  at  thy  feet, 

A  sandal  to  thy  feet  I'd  be ; 
E'en  to  be  trodden  on  were  sweet, 

If  to  be  trodden  on  by  thee. 

Anacreon. 

HOMER. 

Seven  Grecian  cities  vied  for  Homer  dead 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his  bread. 

Anonymous. 

ARISTOTLE. 

Here,  from  one  mould,  a  statue  we  erect 

To  Aristotle — and  to  Intellect. 

Anonymous. 

[Of  the  humorous  and  satirical  poems  of  the  Anthology  the  fol- 
lowing specimens  may  be  given.  ] 

Dick  cannot  blow  his  nose  whene'er  he  pleases. 

His  nose  so  long  is,  and  his  arm  so  short ; 

Nor  ever  cries,  "  God  bless  me !"  when  he  sneezes, — 

Ho  cannot  hear  so  distant  a  report. 

Anonymous. 


406  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Various 

Asclej^iades,  the  miser,  in  his  house 

Espied  one  day,  with  some  surprise,  a  mouse  : 

"  Tell  me,  dear  mouse,"  he  cried,  "  to  what  cause  is  it 

I  owe  this  j)leasant  but  unlooked-for  visit  ?" 

The  mouse  said,  smiling,  "  Fear  not  for  your  hoard : 

I  come,  my  friend,  to  lodge,  and  not  to  board." 

LXJCILIUS. 

A  rich  man's  purse,  a  poor  man's  soul,  is  thine, — 
Starving  thy  body  that  thy  heirs  may  dine. 

LUCILIUS. 

In  pleasure's  bowers  whole  lives  unheeded  fly ; 
But  to  the  wretch  one  night's  eternity. 

Ltjcian. 

THE   murderer's   DOOM. 

A  murderer  sleeping  by  a  tottering  wall 

Saw  in  a  dream  Serapis'  awful  face, 
And  "  Ho !  thou  sleeper,  rise,"  he  heard  him  call, 

"  Go  take  thy  slumber  in  some  other  place." 
The  murderer  woke ;  departed ;  and,  behold, 
Straischt  to  the  earth  the  tottering  fabric  rolled. 

The  wretch  next  morning  offerings  brought,  as  fain 

To  think  himself  to  great  Serapis  dear ; 
But  the  god  came  by  night  and  spoke  again : 

"  Wretch,  dost  thou  think  the  like  of  thee  my  care  ? 
To  avert  a  painless  death  I  bade  thee  wake ; 
But  learn  that  heaven  reserves  thee  for  the  stake." 

Palladas. 

CRETAN   warrior's   SONG. 

My  spear,  my  sword,  my  shaggy  shield  I 

With  these  I  till,  with  these  I  sow. 
With  these  I  reap  my  harvest-field, — 

No  other  wealth  the  gods  bestow ; 


Sekeca]  the  folly  of  ANGER.  407 

With  these  I  jilant  the  fertile  vine ; 
With  these  I  press  the  luscious  wine. 

My  spear,  i^j  sword,  my  shaggy  shield, — 

They  make  me  lord  of  all  below ; 
For  those  who  dread  my  spear  to  wield 

Before  my  shaggy  shield  must  bow : 
Their  fields,  their  vineyards,  they  resign, 
And  all  that  cowards  have  is  mine. 


THE  FOLLY  OF  ANGER. 

SENECA. 

[There  were  two  Koman  writers  of  the  name  of  Seneca,  father  and 
son,  though  only  the  latter  deserves  to  be  named  among  classical  au- 
thors. The  father,  M.  Annseus  Seneca,  was  celebrated  for  his  wonderful 
memory,  he  being  able  to  repeat  two  thousand  disconnected  words  after 
once  hearing  them.  His  two  extant  rhetorical  works  are  of  little  value. 
His  son,  L.  Annajus  Seneca,  was  born  about  4  B.C.  He  studied  oratory, 
but  gave  his  principal  attention  to  philosophy.  After  varied  fortunes 
in  public  life,  and  eight  years  spent  in  exile,  he  became  tutor  to  young 
Nero.  When  Nero,  as  emperor,  displayed  his  cruel  disposition,  Seneca 
lost  all  control  over  him,  and  even  consented  to  his  murder  of  his 
mother.  Through  the  bounty  of  the  emperor  Seneca  became  enor- 
mously rich,  his  wealth  being  so  great  as  finally  to  excite  the  envy  of 
Nero.  The  philosopher,  perceiving  his  danger,  offered  to  present  his 
wealth  to  the  emperor  and  retire  on  a  small  allowance.  This  Nero 
declined,  and  Seneca,  pretending  illness,  shut  himself  up,  and  ceased 
to  appear  in  public.  Nero,  however,  had  determined  on  his  death,  and, 
after  an  ineffectual  effort  to  have  him  poisoned,  had  him  accused  of 
taking  part  in  a  conspiracy  against  his  life,  and  condemned  him  to  put 
himself  to  death.  His  noble  wife,  Paulina,  determined  to  die  with 
him,  but  was  prevented  by  the  emperor ;  and  the  old  philosopher  was 


408  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Seneca 

suffocated  by  the  vapors  of  a  stove,  after  vainly  seeking  death  through 
bleeding  and  poison.     He  died  in  the  year  65  a.d. 

The  philosophical  views  of  Seneca  are  those  of  the  Stoical  school, 
so  predominant  in  Kome.  They  are  clear  and  practical,  and  devoid  of 
speculation,  which  indeed  was  foreign  to  the  Roman  temperament. 
His  "Epistles"  are  his  most  interesting  works,  and  are  rich  in  varied 
thought  and  natural  reflection,  teaching  that  the  great  end  of  science 
is  to  learn  how  to  live  and  die.  The  style  of  Seneca  is  florid  aad 
affected,  attending  more  to  expression  than  to  thought,  and  lacks  the 
repose  and  simplicity  essential  to  true  art.  The  selection  we  give  is 
from  the  close  of  his  treatise  "On  Anger."  The  quaintly-rendered 
translation  is  that  of  Thomas  Lodge,  a  scholar  of  the  Shakespearian 
era.  The  treatise  in  question  is  addressed  to  a  friend  of  the  writer. 
It  defines  anger  in  its  various  aspects,  and  then  goes  on  to  suggest 
remedies.] 

A  GOOD  man  rejoieeth  when  he  is  admonished  ;  a  wicked 
man  cannot  brook  a  reprover.  At  a  banquet  some  men's 
bitter  jests  and  intemperate  words  have  touched  thee  to 
the  quick  :  remember  to  avoid  the  vulgar  company :  after 
wine  men's  words  are  too  lavish,  and  they  that  ai-e  most 
sober  in  their  discourses  are  scarce  modest.  Thou  sawest 
thy  friends  disjileased  with  the  porter  of  a  counsellor's 
chamber,  or  some  rich  man,  because  he  would  not  suffer 
him  to  enter ;  and  thou  thyself,  being  angry  for  this  cause, 
growest  in  choler  with  the  cullion.  Wilt  thou  therefore 
be  angry  with  a  chained  dog,  who  when  he  hath  barked 
much  will  be  satisfied  with  a  piece  of  bread  ? — get  farther 
off  him,  and  laugh.  He  that  keej)eth  his  master's  door, 
and  seeth  the  threshold  besieged  by  a  troop  of  solicitors, 
thinketh  himself  no  small  bug ;  and  he  that  is  the  client 
thinketh  himself  happy  in  his  own  opinion,  and  believeth 
that  so  hard  an  access  into  the  chamber  is  an  evident  testi- 
mony that  the  master  of  the  same  is  a  man  of  great  quality, 
and  a  favorite  of  fortune.  But  he  remembereth  not  him- 
self that  the  entry  of  a   prison  is  as  difficult   likewise. 


Seneca]  THE  FOLLF  OF  ANGER.  409 

Presume  with  thyself  that  thou  art  to  endure  much.  If 
a  man  be  cold  in  winter,  if  he  vomit  at  sea,  if  he  be  shaken 
in  a  coach,  shall  he  marvel  hereat  ?  The  mind  is  strong, 
and  may  endure  all  that  whereunto  he  is  prepared.  If 
thou  hast  been  seated  in  a  place  scarce  answerable  to  thine 
honor,  thou  hast  been  angry  with  him  that  stood  next  thee, 
or  with  him  that  invited  thee,  or  with  him  that  was  pre- 
ferred before  thee.  Fool  as  thou  art,  what  matter  is  it  in 
what  place  thou  art  set  at  the  table  ? — a  cushion  cannot  make 
thee  more  or  less  honest.  Thou  wert  displeased  to  see  such 
a  one,  because  he  spake  ill  of  thy  behavior.  By  this  reck- 
oning, then,  Ennius,  in  whose  poetry  thou  art  noways  de- 
lighted, should  hate  thee,  and  Hortensius  should  denounce 
war  against  thee,  and  Cicero,  if  thou  shouldst  mock  his 
verses,  should  be  at  odds  with  thee.  When  thou  suest  for 
an  office,  dost  thou  not  peaceably  entertain  those  that  give 
their  voices  to  the  election,  although  they  nominate  not 
thyself? 

Some  man  hath  disgraced  thee :  what  more  than  Di- 
ogenes the  Stoic  was,  who,  discoursing  one  day  very 
effectually  upon  the  subject  of  anger,  was  scornfully  spat 
upon  by  a  froward  young  man  ?  This  injury  entertained 
he  both  mildly  and  wisely:  "Truly  (saith  ho),  I  am  not 
angry,  yet  doubt  I  whether  I  ought  to  be  angry."  But 
our  friend  Cato  demeaned  himself  better,  whom,  as  he 
pleaded  a  cause,  Lentulus,  that  factious  and  seditious  fellow 
in  the  time  of  our  forefathers,  similarly  insulted.  For  in 
wiping  his  face  he  said  no  other  thing  but  this:  "Truly, 
Lentulus,  I  will  now  maintain  it  against  all  men  that  they 
are  deceived  who  say  thou  hast  no  mouth." 

Now,  my  Novatus,  we  are  already  instructed   how  to 

govern  our*  minds,  either  to  feel  not  wrath,  or  be  superiors 

over  it.     Let  us  now  sec  how  we  may  temper  other  men's 

ire ;  for  not  only  desire  wo  to  be  healthful  ourselves,  but  to 

I. — s  35 


410  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sekeca 

heal  others.  We  dare  not  attempt  to  moderate  and  pacify 
the  first  anger  by  persuasion,  for  she  is  deaf  and  mad ;  we 
will  give  her  some  time :  remedies  are  best  in  the  declina- 
tion of  fevers.  Neither  will  we  attempt  her  when  she  is 
inflamed  and  in  fury,  for  fear  lest  in  striving  to  quench  we 
enkindle  the  same.  ...  To  check  him  that  is  angry,  and 
to  oppose  thyself  against  him,  is  to  cast  oil  on  the  fire. 
Thou  shalt  attempt  him  divers  ways,  and  after  a  friendly 
manner,  except  haply  it  be  so  great  a  personage  that  thou' 
mayest  diminish  his  wrath  as  Augustus  Csesar  did  when 
he  su]3ped  with  Yedius  Pollio.  One  of  the  servants  had 
broken  a  crystal  glass,  whom  Yedius  commanded  to  be 
cai-ried  away  and  to  be  punished  by  no  ordinary  death ; 
for  he  commanded  him  to  be  thrown  amongst  his  lam- 
preys, which  were  kept  in  a  great  fish-pond.  The  boy 
escajDed  out  of  their  hands,  and  fled  to  Caesar's  feet,  de- 
siring nothing  else  but  that  he  might  die  otherwise,  and 
not  be  made  meat  for  fishes.  Caesar  was  moved  with  the 
novelty  of  the  cruelty,  and  commanded  him  to  be  carried 
away,  yet  gave  orders  that  all  the  crystal  vessels  should  be 
broken  in  his  presence,  and  that  the  fish-pond  should  be 
filled  up.  So  thought  Caesar  good  to  chastise  his  friend, 
and  well  did  he  use  his  power.  Commandest  thou  me  to 
be  dragged  from  the  banquet  and  to  be  tortured  by  new 
kinds  of  punishment  ?  If  thy  cup  be  broken,  shall  men's 
bowels  be  rent  in  pieces  ?  Wilt  thou  please  thyself  so  much 
as  to  command  any  man  to  death  where  Caesar  is  present  ? 
Let  us  give  repose  unto  our  minds,  which  we  shall  do 
if  we  dilate,  continually  ujjon  the  precepts  of  wisdom  and 
the  acts  of  virtue,  and  likewise  whilst  our  thoughts  desire 
nothing  but  that  which  is  honest.  Let  us  satisfy  our  con- 
science ;  let  us  do  nothing  for  vainglory  sake ;  let  thy 
fortune  be  evil  so  thine  actions  be  good.  But  (sayest  thou) 
the  world  admireth  those  that   attempt  mighty  matters, 


Seneca]  THE  FOLLY  OF  ANGER.  411 

and  audacious  men  are  reported  honorable,  and  peaceable 
are  esteemed  sluggards.  It  may  be,  upon  the  first  sight ; 
but  as  soon  as  a  well-governed  mind  showeth  that  it  pro- 
ceedeth  not  from  the  weakness,  but  the  moderation,  of  the 
mind,  the  people  regard  and  reverence  it.  So,  then,  this 
cruel  and  bloody  passion  is  not  profitable  in  any  sort,  but 
contrariwise;  all  evils,  fire  and  blood,  feed  her;  she  treadeth 
all  modesty  under  foot,  embrueth  her  hands  with  infinite 
murthers;  she  it  is  that  teareth  children  in  sunder  and 
scattereth  their  limbs  here  and  there.  She  hatJi  left  no 
place  void  of  heinous  villanies,  neither  respecting  glory 
nor  fearing  infamy ;  incurable,  when  of  wrath  she  is  hard- 
ened and  converted  into  hatred. 

Let  us  abstain  wholly  from  this  vice ;  let  us  purge  our 
mind  and  pull  up  those  passions  that  are  rooted  in  it, 
whose  holdfast,  be  it  never  so  little,  will  spring  again 
wheresoever  it  is  fastened ;  and  let  us  not  only  moderate 
our  anger,  but  wholly  root  it  out  and  drive  it  from  us.  We 
may,  if  so  be  we  will  endeavor;  neither  will  anything 
profit  us  more  than  the  thought  of  mortality.  Let  every 
one  say  unto  himself,  as  if  it  were  unto  another.  What 
heljieth  it  us,  as  if  we  were  born  to  live  ever,  to  proclaim 
our  hatred,  and  misspend  so  short  a  life  ?  What  profiteth 
it  us  to  transfer  those  days  which  we  might  spend  in 
honest  pleasure,  in  plotting  another  man's  misery  and 
torment?  These  thino-s  of  so  short  continuance  should 
not  be  hazarded,  neither  have  we  any  leisure  to  lose  time. 
Why  rush  we  forward  to  fight  ? — why  beget  we  quarrels 
against  ourselves  ? — why,  being  forgetful  of  our  weakness, 
embrace  we  excessive  hatreds,  and,  being  ready  to  break, 
ourselves  rise  up  to  break  others  ?  It  will  not  be  long  but 
either  a  fever,  or  some  other  infirmity  of  the  body,  will 
prevent  those  hatreds  which  we  hatch  up  in  our  implaca- 
ble minds.     Behold  Death  at  hand,  that  will  part  these 


412  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Seneca 

two  mortal  enemies.  Why  stoi'm  we  ? — why  so  seditiously 
trouble  we  our  life  ?  Death  hangeth  over  our  heads,  and 
daily  more  and  more  lays  hold  on  him  that  is  dying.  The 
very  time  which  thou  destinest  to  another  man's  death 
shall  be  the  nearest  to  thine  own. 

Why  rather  makest  thou  not  use  of  this  short  time 
of  thy  life,  by  making  it  peaceable  both  to  thyself  and 
others?  Why  i-ather  endearest  thou  not  thyself  in  all 
men's  love  while  thou  livest,  to  the  end  that  when  thou 
diest  thy  loss  may  be  lamented  ?  And  why  desirest  thou 
to  put  him  lower,  whose  authority  is  too  great  for  thee  to 
contend  against  ?  Why  seekest  thou  to  crush  and  terrify 
that  base  and  contemptible  fellow  that  barketh  at  thee,  and 
who  is  so  bitter  and  troublesome  to  his  superiors  ?  Why 
frettest  thou  at  thy  seiwant?  thy  lord?  thy  king? — why 
art  thou  angry  with  thy  client  ?  Bear  with  him  a  little  : 
behold.  Death  is  at  hand,  which  shall  make  us  equals.  We 
were  wont  to  laugh,  in  beholding  the  combats  which  are 
j)erformed  on  the  sands  in  the  morning,  to  mark  the  con- 
flict of  the  bull  and  the  bear  when  they  are  tied  one  to 
another:  after  they  have  tired  one  another,  the  butcher 
attendeth  for  them  both  to  drive  them  to  the  slaughter- 
house. The  like  do  we ;  we  challenge  him  that  is  coupled 
with  us ;  we  charge  him  on  every  side :  meanwhile  both 
the  conquered  and  the  conqueror  are  near  unto  their  ruin. 
Rather  let  us  finish  that  little  remainder  of  our  life  in 
quiet  and  peace,  and  let  not  our  death  be  a  pleasure  to  any 
man.  Ofttimes  those  that  were  together  by  the  ears  have 
forsaken  their  strife,  because  that  during  their  debate  some 
one  hath  cried  fire  that  was  kindled  in  a  neighbor's  house ; 
and  the  interview  of  a  wild  beast  hath  divided  the  thief 
and  the  merchant.  We  have  no  leisure  to  wrestle  with 
lesser  evils  when  greater  fear  appeareth.  What  have  we 
to  do  with  fighting  and  ambushes  ?     Doest  thou  with  him 


Ovid]  BAUCIS  AND  PHILEMON.  413 

with  whom  thou  art  displeased  any  more  than  Death? 
Although  thou  sayest  nothing  to  him,  he  shall  die ;  thou 
losest  thy  labor ;  thou  wilt  do  that  which  will  be  done.  I 
will  not  (sayest  thou)  forthwith  kill  him,  but  banish,  dis- 
grace, or  punish  him.  I  pardon  him,  rather,  that  desireth 
his  enemy  should  be  wounded,  than  scarred ;  for  this  man 
is  not  only  badly  but  basely  minded.  Whether  it  be  that 
thou  thinkest  of  death,  or  any  one  more  slight  evil,  there 
is  but  a  very  little  difference  betwixt  the  day  of  thy  de- 
sire, until  the  punishment  which  such  a  one  shall  endure, 
or  till  the  time  that  thou  shalt  rejoice  with  an  evil  con- 
science at  the  miseries  of  another  man ;  for  even  now, 
while  we  draw  our  breath,  we  drive  our  spirit  from  us. 
Whilst  we  are  amongst  men,  let  us  embrace  humanity ;  let 
us  be  dreadful  or  dangerous  to  no  man ;  let  us  contemn 
detriments,  injuries,  and  slanders,  and  with  great  minds 
suffer  short  incommodities.  Whilst  we  look  behind  us  (as 
they  say)  and  turn  ourselves,  behold  Death  doth  presently 
attend  us. 


BAUCIS  AND  PHILEMON. 

OVID. 

[P.  Ovidius  Naso,  a  native  of  Sulmo,  a  town  about  ninety  miles 
from  Eome,  was  born  43  B.C.,  of  a  family  that  had  been  noble  for  some 
generations.  After  a  period  of  study  at  Athens,  and  a  tour  in  Asia 
and  Sicilj'^,  he  returned  to  Rome,  to  pursue  the  life  of  an  indolent  and 
licentious  man  of  letters.  Here  his  rank,  fortune,  and  poetical  ability 
made  him  highly  popular,  and  for  years  he  lived  a  life  of  luxury, 
in  the  possession  of  a  beautiful  mansion  in  Rome  and  of  an  estate 
in  his  native  town.  His  dissolute  enjoyment,  however,  was  destined 
to  come  to  an  unfortunate  end.  From  some  unknown  cause,  possibly 
I.  35* 


414  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [OviD 

an  intrigue  with  some  member  of  the  imperial  family,  he  incurred  the 
anger  of  Augustus,  and  in  his  fiftieth  year  was  banished  to  Tomi,  a 
town  of  a  rude,  inhospitable  country  near  the  mouth  of  the  Danube. 
Here  the  devotee  of  pleasure  languished  for  ten  years,  the  prey  of 
anxiety,  loss  of  sleep  and  of  appetite,  and  general  hopelessness.  He 
died  in  his  sixtieth  year,  the  Tomitse,  who  had  learned  to  honor  and 
respect  him,  erecting  a  tomb  to  his  memory. 

As  a  poet  Ovid  has  always  been  admired,  especially  for  his  facility 
of  composition,  his  lively  fancy,  and  his  musical  versification.  His 
most  valuable  production  is  that  known  as  the  "Metamorphoses." 
This  he  had  just  finished  at  the  time  of  his  exile,  and  in  his  despair 
he  burned  it,  but  fortunately  some  copies  escaped  this  fate.  It  is  com- 
prised in  fifteen  books,  and  embraces  a  series  of  mythological  narra- 
tives, from  the  earliest  times  to  the  translation  of  the  soul  of  Julius 
Cffisar  and  his  metamorphosis  into  a  star,  and  yields  us  a  fuller  knowl- 
edge of  the  Greek  mythology  than  we  possess  in  any  extant  works  of 
the  Greeks  themselves.  He  wrote  several  other  works,  some  of  them 
very  licentious  in  character,  yet  all  displaying  the  beauty  of  thought 
and  grace  of  language  of  their  author. 

From  the  many  interesting  narratives  of  the  "Metamorphoses"  we 
select  one  of  the  most  neatly  told,  the  story  of  Baucis  and  Philemon, 
as  translated  by  Dryden,  a  poet  excellently  adapted  by  nature  to  render 
Ovid's  Latin  into  graceful  English.] 

In  Phrygian  ground 
Two  neighboring  trees,  with  walls  encompassed  round, 
Stand  on  a  moderate  rise,  with  wonder  shown, — 
One  a  hard  oak,  a  softer  linden  one : 
I  saw  the  place,  and  them,  by  Pittheus  sent 
To  Phrygian  realms,  my  grand  sire's  government. 
Not  far  from  thence  is  seen  a  lake,  the  haunt 
Of  coots,  and  of  the  fishing  cormorant. 
Here  Jove  with  Hermes  came,  but  in  disguise 
Of  mortal  men  concealed  their  deities ; 
One  laid  aside  his  thunder,  one  his  rod, 
And  many  toilsome  steps  together  trod  : 
For  harbor  at  a  thousand  doors  they  knocked ; 


Oyib]  BAUCIS  AND  PHILEMON.  415 

JSTot  one  of  all  the  thousaud  but  was  locked. 

At  last  an  hospitable  house  they  found, 

A  homely  shed  ;  .the  roof,  not  far  from  ground, 

"Was  thatched  with  reeds  and  straw  together  bound. 

There  Baucis  and  Philemon  lived,  and  there 

Had  lived  long  married,  and  a  happy  pair : 

Now  old  in  love,  though  little  was  their  store, 

Inured  to  want,  their  poverty  they  bore, 

Nor  aimed  at  wealth,  professing  to  be  poor. 

For  master  or  for  servant  here  to  call 

Were  all  alike,  where  only  two  were  all. 

Command  was  none,  where  equal  love  was  paid, 

Or  rather  both  commanded,  both  obeyed. 

From  lofty  roofs  the  gods  repulsed  before, 
Now  stooping,  entered  through  the  little  door  : 
The  man  (their  hearty  welcome  first  expressed) 
A  common  settle  drew  for  either  guest, 
Inviting  each  his  weary  limbs  to  rest. 
But,  ere  they  sat,  officious  Baucis  lays 
Two  cushions  stufi'ed  with  straw,  the  seat  to  raise, — 
Coarse,  but  the  best  she  had, — then  rakes  the  load 
Of  ashes  from  the  hearth,  and  spreads  abroad 
The  living  coals ;  and,  lest  they  should  expire, 
"With  leaves  and  bark  she  feeds  her  infant  fire. 
It  smokes ;  and  then  with  trembling  breath  she  blows, 
Till  in  a  cheerful  blaze  the  flames  arose. 
With  brushwood  and  with  chips  she  strengthens  these, 
And  adds  at  last  the  boughs  of  rotten  trees. 
The  fire  thus  formed,  she  sets  the  kettle  on 
(Like  burnished  gold  the  little  seether  shone), 
Next  took  the  coleworts  which  her  husband  got 
From  his  own  ground  (a  small,  well-watered  spot)  ; 
She  stripped  the  stalks  of  all  their  leaves ;  the  best 
She  culled,  and  them  with  handy  care  she  dressed. 


416  BEST  FOREIGN  A  UTHORS.  [OviD 

High  o'er  the  hearth  a  chine  of  hacon  hung ; 

Good  old  Philemon  seized  it  with  a  prong 

And  from  the  sooty  rafter  drew  it  down, 

Then  cut  a  slice,  but  scarce  enovigh  for  one, 

Yet  a  large  portion  of  a  little  store, 

Which  for  their  sakes  alone  he  wished  were  more. 

This  in  the  pot  he  plunged  without  delay. 

To  tame  the  flesh,  and  drain  the  salt  away. 

The  time  between,  before  the  fire  they  sat, 

And  shortened  the  delay  by  pleasing  chat. 

A  beam  there  was,  on  which  a  beechen  pail 
Hung  by  the  handle,  on  a  driven  nail : 
This  filled  with  water,  gently  warmed,  they  set 
Before  their  guests ;  in  this  they  bathed  their  feet, 
And  after  with  clean  towels  dried  their  sweat. 
This  done,  the  host  produced  the  genial  bed, 
Sallow  the  feet,  the  borders,  and  the  stead. 
Which  with  no  costly  coverlet  they  spread, 
But  coarse  old  garments ;  yet  such  robes  as  these 
They  laid  alone  at  feasts  on  holidays. 
The  good  old  housewife,  tucking  up  her  gown, 
The  table  sets ;  the  invited  gods  lie  down. 
The  trivet-table  of  a  foot  was  lame, 
A  blot  which  prudent  Baucis  overcame, 
Who  thrust  beneath  the  limping  leg  a  sherd, — 
So  was  the  mended  board  exactly  reared, — 
Then  rubbed  it  o'er  with  newly-gathered  mint, 
A  wholesome  herb,  that  breathed  a  grateful  scent. 
Pallas  began  the  feast,  where  first  was  seen 
The  parti-colored  olive,  black  and  green : 
Autumnal  cornels  next  in  order  served. 
In  lees  of  wine  well  pickled  and  preserved : 
A  garden  salad  was  the  third  supply. 
Of  endive,  radishes,  and  succory : 


Ovid]  BAUCIS  AND   PHILEMON.  417 

Then  curds  and  cream,  the  flower  of  country  fare, 

And  new-laid  eggs,  which  Baucis'  busy  care 

Turned  by  a  gentle  fire,  and  roasted  rare. 

All  these  in  earthen-ware  were  served  to  board ; 

And  next  in  place,  an  earthen  pitcher  stored 

With  liquor  of  the  best  the  cottage  could  aiford. 

This  was  the  table's  ornament  and  pride. 

With  figures  wrought ;  like  pages  at  his  side 

Stood  beechen  bowls ;  and  these  were  shining  clean, 

Varnished  with  wax  without,  and  lined  within. 

By  this  the  boiling  kettle  had  prepared 

And  to  the  table  sent  the  smokinsf  lard. 

On  which  with  eager  appetite  they  dine, 

A  savory  bit,  that  served  to  relish  wine : 

The  wine  itself  was  suiting  to  the  rest. 

Still  working  in  the  must,  and  lately  pressed. 

The  second  course  succeeds  like  that  before ; 

Plums,  apples,  nuts ;  and  of  their  wintry  store 

Dry  figs  and  grapes,  and  wrinkled  grapes  were  set 

In  canisters  to  enlarge  the  little  treat : 

All  these  a  milk-white  honey-comb  surround, 

Which  in  the  midst  the  country  banquet  crowned. 

But  the  kind  hosts  their  entertainment  grace 

With  hearty  welcome,  and  an  open  face : 

In  all  they  did,  you  might  discern  with  ease 

A  willing  mind,  and  a  desire  to  please. 

Meantime  the  beechen  bowls  went  round,  and  still, 
Though  often  emptied,  were  observed  to  fill, — 
Filled  without  hands,  and  of  their  own  accord 
Ean  without  feet,  and  danced  about  the  board. 
Devotion  seized  the  pair,  to  see  the  feast 
With  wine,  and  of  no  common  grape,  increased ; 
And  up  they  held  their  hands,  and  fell  to  prayer, 
Excusing,  as  they  could,  their  country  fare. 

i.—bb 


418  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Ovid 

One  goose  they  had  ('twas  all  they  could  allow), 
A  wakeful  sentry,  and  on  duty  now, 
"Whom  to  the  gods  for  sacrifice  they  vow. 
Her  with  malicious  zeal  the  couple  viewed  ; 
She  ran  for  life,  and  limping  they  pursued  : 
Full  well  the  fowl  perceived  their  bad  intent, 
And  would  not  make  her  master's  compliment. 
But,  persecuted,  to  the  powers  she  flies. 
And  close  between  the  legs  of  Jove  she  lies. 
He  with  a  gracious  ear  the  suppliant  heard. 
And  saved  her  life ;  then  what  he  was  declared. 
And  owned  the  god.     "  The  neighborhood,"  said  ho, 
"  Shall  justly  perish  for  impiety ; 
You  stand  alone  exempted  ;  but  obey 
With  sj)eed,  and  follow  where  we  lead  the  way. 
Leave  these  accursed,  and  to  the  mountain's  height 
Ascend,  nor  once  look  backward  in  your  flight." 

They  haste,  and  what  their  tardy  feet  denied, 
The  trusty  staff  (their  better  leg)  supplied. 
An  arrow's  flight  they  wanted  to  the  top. 
And  there  secure,  but  spent  with  travel,  stop, 
Then  turn  their  now  no  more  forbidden  eyes. 
Lost  in  a  lake  the  floated  level  lies  ; 
A  watery  desert  covers  all  the  plains ; 
Their  cot  alone,  as  in  an  isle,  remains. 
Wondering,  with  weeping  eyes,  while  they  deplore 
Their  neighbors'  fate,  and  country  now  no  more, 
Their  little  shed,  scarce  large  enough  for  two. 
Seems  from  the  ground  increased  in  height  and  bulk  to 

grow : 
A  stately  temple  shoots  within  the  skies. 
The  crotchets  of  their  cot  in  columns  rise  ; 
The  pavement  polished  marble  they  behold, 
The  gates  with  sculpture  graced,  the  spires  and  tiles  of  gold. 


Ovid]  BAUCIS  AND   PHILEMON.  419 

Then  thus  the  sire  of  gods,  with  looks  serene : 
"  Speak  thy  desire,  thou  only  just  of  men  ; 
And  thou,  0  woman,  only  worthy  found 
To  be  with  such  a  man  in  marriage  bound." 

Awhile  they  whisper ;  then,  to  Jove  addressed, 
Philemon  thus  prefers  their  joint  request : 
''  We  crave  to  serve  before  your  sacred  shrine, 
And  offer  at  your  altar  rites  divine  ; 
And  since  not  any  action  of  our  life 
Has  been  polluted  with  domestic  strife. 
We  bes:  one  hour  of  death,  that  neither  she 
With  widow's  tears  may  live  to  bury  me, 
Nor  weeping  I,  with  withered  arms,  may  bear 
My  breathless  Baucis  to  the  sepulchre." 
The  godheads  sign  their  suit.     They  run  the  race 
In  the  same  tenor  all  the  appointed  space : 
Then,  when  their  hour  was  come,  while  they  relate 
These  past  adventures  at  the  temple  gate. 
Old  Baucis  is  by  old  Philemon  seen 
Sprouting  with  sudden  leaves  of  sprightly  green ; 
Old  Baucis  looked  where  old  Philemon  stood, 
And  saw  his  lengthened  arms  a  sprouting  wood ; 
New  roots  their  fastened  feet  begin  to  bind, 
Their  bodies  stiffen  in  a  rising  rind ; 
Then,  ere  the  bark  above  their  shoulders  grew, 
They  give  and  take  at  once  their  last  adieu. 
At  once,  "  Farewell,  O  faithful  spouse,"  they  said  ; 
At  once  the  encroaching  rinds  their  closing  lips  invade. 

E'en  yet,  an  ancient  Tyana^an  shows 
A  spreading  oak,  that  near  a  linden  grows ; 
The  neighborhood  confirm  the  prodigy, — 
Grave  men,  not  vain  of  tongue,  or  like  to  lie. 
I  saw  myself  the  garlands  on  their  boughs, 
And  tablets  hung  for  gifts  of  granted  vows  ; 


420  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sallust 

And  offering  fresher  up,  with  pious  prayer, 

"  The  good,"  said  I,  "  are  God's  pecuHar  care, 

And  such  as  honor  Heaven  shall  heavenly  honor  share." 


A  SUCCESSFUL  STRATAGEM. 

SALLUST. 

[Caius  Sallustius  Crispus,  the  earliest  Koman  writer  of  history  in  the 
modern  sense  of  the  word,  was  born  at  Amiternum,  in  the  Sabine  terri- 
tory, in  the  year  86  B.C.  He  was  of  plebeian  rank,  but  attained  to 
the  senatorial  dignity.  In  the  civil  war  between  Csesar  and  Pompey  he 
joined  Cassar's  army,  and  at  its  close  was  made  governor  of  Numidia, 
where,  by  extortion,  he  acquired  great  wealth.  His  enormous  fortune 
was  expended  in  building  himself  a  superb  mansion,  surrounded  by 
magnificent  grounds,  in  whose  enjoyment  he  passed  the  remainder 
of  his  life,  occupying  his  time  in  historical  composition.  He  died 
in  the  year  34  B.C. 

Several  historical  works  yet  extant  are  ascribed  to  Sallust,  but  only 
two  of  these,  the  "  Jugurtha"  and  the  "  Bellum  Catilinarium,"  are 
clearly  authentic.  His  works  have  the  high  merit  of  being  always 
written  with  a  clearly-defined  purpose.  In  the  story  of  the  conspiracy 
of  Catiline  the  depravity  of  the  new  nobility  is  vividly  shown.  In 
the  Jugurthine  War  the  unworthiness  of  the  foreign  policy  of  Kome  at 
that  period  is  clearly  pointed  out.  As  a  writer  Sallust,  though  frequently 
inexact,  especially  in  the  "Jugurtha,"  is  vigorous,  animated,  and  of 
excellent  literary  merit.  His  characters  are  naturally  drawn,  and  his 
works  combine  the  charm  of  the  historical  romance  with  the  value  of 
the  political  treatise.  His  style  resembles  that  of  Thucydides,  though 
it  lacks  its  wonderful  power  of  condensation,  and  is  artificial  where 
Thucydides  is  natural.  But  his  analysis  of  the  motives  of  parties, 
and  display  of  the  secret  springs  of  action  of  historical  personages, 
give  his  works  great  historical  value.  From  Murphy's  translation 
of  the  "  Jugurtha"  we  select  an  interesting  incident  of  the  Numidian 
war.] 


Sallust]  a   successful  STRATAGEM.  421 

At  a  small  distance  from  the  river  Mulueha,  which 
formed  a  boundary  between  the  territories  of  Bocchus 
and  Jugurtha,  there  was  an  extensive  plain,  in  the  middle 
of  which  stood  a  mountainous  rock,  of  a  prodigious  height, 
broad  at  top,  with  a  small  castle  erected  upon  it ;  on  one 
side  only  there  was  a  diflacult  and  narrow  ascent ;  in  every 
other  part  it  was  as  steep  and  rugged  as  the  labor  of 
man  could  have  made  it.  Marius  knew  that  this  fortress 
was  the  depository  of  Jugurtha's  treasure,  and  therefore 
applied  himself  strenuously  to  the  reduction  of  it.  The 
enterprise  succeeded,  but  more  by  a  lucky  incident  than  the 
operations  of  the  general.  The  place  was  well  garrisoned, 
and  sufficiently  provided  with  arms  and  necessaries  of 
every  kind  ;  a  spring  within  their  walls  supplied  them  with 
water;  mounds,  and  moving  towers,  and  other  machina- 
tions of  a  siege,  could  not  be  advanced  against  the  castlo 
with  any  advantage ;  the  road  to  the  top  was,  as  already 
mentioned,  close  and  narrow,  between  two  steep  precipices; 
the  covered  galleries  could  not  be  brought  forward  without 
extreme  danger;  as  soon  as  they  approached  the  works 
they  were  either  crushed  by  a  weight  of  stones,  or  de- 
stroyed by  fire.  Before  a  place  so  inaccessible,  the  Eomans 
could  neither  stand  to  their  work,  nor  show  themselves  in 
the  movinii-  galleries.  The  bravest  soldiers  were  either 
slain,  or  disabled  by  their  wounds,  and  the  rest  were  struck 
with  a  general  panic. 

Marius  saw  with  considerable  anxiety  that  his  time  and 
his  labor  were  wasted  ineffectually,  and  began  to  deliberate 
whether  he  should  raise  the  siege,  or  wait  for  the  inter- 
ference of  that  fortune  which  had  so  often  seconded  his 
endeavors.  In  this  state  of  doubt  and  anxiety  he  had 
passed  several  days  and  nights,  when  the  following  incident 
occurred.  A  Ligurian,  who  served  as  a  common  soldier  in 
the  auxiliary  cohorts,  happening  to  go  forth  from  the  camp 
I.  36 


422  BEST  FOREIGN   AUTHORS.  [Sallust 

in  the  search  for  water,  went  to  the  side  of  the  castle 
opposite  to  that  where  the  siege  was  carried  on,  and  there 
took  notice  of  a  number  of  snails  crawling  among  the 
rocks :  he  picked  up  one,  then  another,  and,  still  wishing 
to  gather  more,  mounted  by  degrees,  till  he  almost  reached 
the  summit  of  the  rock,  where,  a  scene  of  profound  soli- 
tude presenting  itself,  he  was  led  by  that  love  of  dis- 
covery so  natural  to  the  human  mind,  to  explore  farther 
and  indulge  his  curiosity.  He  soon  perceived  a  large 
oak  that  had  forced  its  way  through  many  stones,  and, 
at  first  inclining  downwards  near  the  root,  soon  shot  up, 
according  to  the  nature  of  all  trees,  and  grew  to  an  im- 
moderate height. 

The  Ligurian  climbed  up  the  tree,  laying  hold  of  the 
branches,  and,  at  times,  planting  his  foot  on  the  jutting 
points  of  the  rock.  In  this  manner  he  gained  the  summit, 
and  in  that  situation  was  able  to  take  a  view  of  the  castle 
without  being  discovered  by  the  ISTumidians,  whose  atten- 
tion was  drawn  off  to  the  quarter  where  the  besiegers 
advanced  their  works.  Having  gained  a  knowledge  of 
everything  conducive  to  his  purpose,  he  descended  by  the 
same  path,  but  with  more  curiosity  than  at  first,  examining 
and  exploring  everything  around  him. 

His  adventure  being  thus  performed,  he  hastened  to  give 
an  account  of  it  to  Marius.  He  urged  the  general  to 
avail  himself  of  the  secret  path  which  he  had  discovered, 
and  assault  the  castle,  offering  to  be  the  guide,  and  the 
foremost  in  the  post  of  danger.  Marius  thought  fit  to 
send  some  of  his  attendants  in  company  with  the  Ligurian 
to  reconnoitre  the  place :  their  reports  were  various  ac- 
cording to  the  genius  of  the  men,  some  representing  it  as 
a  proj^er  measui-e,  others  as  a  scheme  altogether  impracti- 
cable. The  consul,  however,  was  not  discouraged ;  on  the 
contrary,  he  resolved  to  try  the  experiment  on  the  very 


Sallust]  a   successful  STRATAGEM.  423 

next  day,  and  for  this  purpose  selected  five  of  the  most 
alert  trumpeters  in  the  army,  with  four  centurions  at  the 
head  of  their  companies,  and  gave  them  orders  to  march 
under  the  conduct  of  the  Ligurian. 

At  the  hour  appointed,  all  being  in  readiness,  this  bold 
adventurer  proceeded  to  the  place.  The  centurions,  by  the 
advice  of  their  leader,  laid  aside  their  usual  dress  and 
armor,  and  marched  with  their  heads  and  their  feet  un- 
covered, in  order  that  nothing  might  obstruct  their  sight, 
and,  that  their  ascent  among  tlie  rocks  might  be  easy  and 
unencumbered,  they  slung  their  swords  and  bucklers  on 
their  shoulders.  The  last  were  in  the  Numidian  fashion, 
made  of  leather,  moi'e  light  and  portable,  and,  if  they 
struck  against  the  rocks,  no  sound  could  follow.  The 
Ligurian  led  the  way.  He  tied  cords  around  the  pointed 
prominences  of  the  rocks,  and  also  around  the  old  roots 
and  branches  of  trees,  that  appeared  in  some  places  be- 
tween the  stones.  By  this  contrivance  the  soldiers  raised 
themselves  with  greater  ease.  He  lent  a  hand  to  those 
whom  he  saw  disheartened  by  the  difficulties  which  they 
had  to  struggle  with ;  and  when  they  came  to  a  spot 
where  the  ascent  appeared  almost  impracticable,  he  di- 
rected the  men,  free  from  all  encumbrance,  to  climb  up 
before  him,  and  then  followed  them,  loaded  with  their 
arms.  Where  the  difficulty  appeared  insurmountable,  ho 
there  particularly  exerted  himself,  and,  by  ascending  and 
descending  frequently,  animated  the  men  to  follow  his 
examj)le.  At  length,  having  with  infinite  toil  and  labor 
conquered  all  these  obstacles,  they  reached  the  summit  of 
the  rock,  and  found  the  castle  upon  that  side  naked  and 
defenceless ;  the  Numidians,  on  this  as  on  the  preceding 
days,  being  all  drawn  off  to  attend  in  the  opposite  quarter 
to  the  operations  of  the  siege. 

The  I>rumidians,  during  all  this  time,  were  allowed  neither 


424  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Sallust 

pause  nor  respite.  Marius,  being  informed  of  what  was 
achieved  by  the  Ligurian,  pushed  tlie  assault  with  re- 
doubled vigor,  and,  after  exhorting  his  men,  showed  him- 
self on  the  outside  of  his  covered  gallery,  and  ordered  the 
soldiers  to  form  a  military  shell  and  advance  against  the 
works,  while  the  battering-engines,  the  archers,  and  sling- 
ers,  from  their  distant  station,  kept  the  enemy  in  constant 
alai-m.  The  IsTumidians  had  often  crushed  to  pieces,  or 
destroyed  by  fire,  the  works  and  machines  of  the  Eomans, 
and  now,  elated  by  success,  they  scorned  to  remain  within 
their  battlements,  but  had  the  hardihood  to  appear  on  the 
outside,  and  there  passed  whole  days  and  nights,  abusing 
the  Eomans  in  the  most  outrageous  manner,  railing  against 
Marius  as  no  better  than  a  madman,  and  endeavoring  to 
intimidate  our  men  by  threatening  that  they  should  all  be 
reduced  to  slavery  under  Jugurtha.  Such  was  the  inso- 
lence of  these  people,  intoxicated  with  success. 

The  conflict  was  continued  on  both  sides  with  unremit- 
ting fury.  The  besiegers  fought  for  dominion  and  glory, 
and  the  Numidians  for  the  preservation  of  themselves  and 
all  that  was  dear  to  them.  In  the  heat  of  the  action  a 
sudden  clangor  of  trumpets  was  heard.  An  uproar  so  un- 
expected in  the  rear  of  the  combatants  spread  a  terrible 
alarm.  The  women  and  children  who  had  issued  out  to 
be  spectators  of  the  conflict  betook  themselves  to  flight ; 
they  were  followed  by  such  as  were  near  the  walls ;  and 
at  last  the  whole  body,  armed  and  unarmed,  fled  in  one 
general  panic.  The  Romans,  encouraged  by  this  retreat, 
advanced  with  increasing  ardor,  and  bore  down  all  before 
them ;  some  of  those  who  opposed  them  they  merely 
wounded,  and,  without  stopping  to  kill  them,  urged  on 
with  rapid  fury,  trampling  the  slaughtered  bodies  under 
their  feet,  and,  emulous  only  for  the  glory  of  victory, 
pressed  forward  to  gain  possession  of  the  works,  without 


Callimachus]  hymn  ON  THE  BATH  OF  MINERVA.      425 

pausing  a  moment  to  think  of  plunder.  Thus  did  success 
almost  justify  the  temerity  of  Marius  and  confer  on  him 
glory  where  he  might  have  expected  censure. 


HYMN  ON  THE  BATH  OF  MINERVA. 

CALLIMACHUS. 

[The  Hymns,  Epigrams,  and  Elegies  of  Callimachus  are  among  the 
most  valuable  of  the  poetic  remains  of  the  literary  coterie  of  Alexan- 
dria, whose  lack  of  high  genius  was  in  part  replaced  by  learning  and 
labor.  The  Epigrams  of  this  poet  comprise  the  best  specimens  of  that 
kind  of  poetry  extant,  and  were  highly  esteemed  in  ancient  times. 
The  Hymns  are  epic  rather  than  lyric  in  handling,  and,  though  their 
poetry  is  of  the  hot-bed  order,  they  are  valuable  for  the  learning  they 
display  and  the  mythologic  information  they  impart.  The  prose  works 
of  Callimachus,  which  were  much  more  valuable  than  his  poems,  are 
all  lost.  They  were  full  of  curious  information  concerning  mythology, 
history,  and  literature.  Callimachus  was  born,  of  a  Greek  family,  at 
Gyrene,  in  Africa,  about  295  B.C.  He  died  when  about  fifty  years  of 
age.  For  years  he  conducted  a  noted  school  in  Alexandria,  but,  hav- 
ing taken  part  in  a  poetic  contest  ordered  by  Ptolemy  Euergetes,  he 
achieved  such  signal  success  that  he  was  appointed  royal  librarian. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  fertile  writers  of  antiquity,  being  credited  with 
nearly  eight  hundred  works, — many  of  them  doubtless  very  brief. 
The  most  to  be  lamented  of  these  lost  works  was  a  comprehensive  his- 
tory of  Greek  literature,  said  to  have  been  very  full  and  systematic. 
We  select,  as  an  example  of  his  poetic  skill,  his  "  Hymn  on  the  Bath 
of  Minerva,"  as  translated  by  Elton.] 

Come,  all  ye  virgins  of  the  bath !  come  forth, 
Ye  handmaids  of  Minerva !  for  I  hear 
The  neighing  of  the  sacred  steeds :  e'en  now 
The  goddess  is  at  hand.     Haste,  hasten  forth, 
Maids  of  the  yellow  locks,  Pelasgian  maids ! 
I.  36* 


426  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Oallimachus 

Ne'er  does  Minerva  lave  her  ample  limbs, 

Till  from  the  loins  of  these  her  smoking  steeds 

She  cleanse  the  dust  away ;  nor  yet  returns 

Her  weaj)ons  all  with  dust  and  gore  defiled, 

From  slaughter  of  that  impious,  earth-born  brood, 

But  first,  at  distance,  loosens  from  the  car 

Her  coursers'  necks,  and  bathes  in  ocean's  waves 

Their  dropping  sweat,  and  from  their  bitted  mouths 

Clears  the  coagulated  foam  away. 

Gro  forth,  Achaean  maids !  nor  let  your  hands — 

(I  hear  the  rattling  sound  of  ringing  wheels) — 

Let  not  your  hands  bear  ointments,  nor  the  vase 

Of  alabaster:  Pallas  takes  not  joy 

In  mingled  ointments.     Nor  the  mirror  bring ; 

For  still  Minerva's  bi^ow  is  beautiful. 

Nor  yet,  when  Paris,  on  the  mount  of  Ide, 

Sat  arbiter  of  beauty,  did  she  look 

Upon  the  polished  brass;  nor  on  the  stream 

Of  Simois,  in  transparent  dimj)les  rolled ; 

Nor  Juno  sought  the  mirror,  nor  the  stream  ; 

While  Venus  took  the  polished  brass,  and  gazed, 

Arranging,  o'er  and  o'er,  the  self-same  locks : 

But  Pallas,  nimbly  rurining  in  her  speed, 

Compassed  a  circuit,  like  the  racing  ^^ouths, 

Twin  sons  of  Sparta,  on  Eurotas'  banks, 

Pollux  and  Castor,  then,  with  practised  art, 

Her  limbs  anointed  with  the  fragrant  oil 

Of  her  own  olive-yards.     O  virgin  !  then 

The  color  of  the  morning  flushed  once  more 

Thy  cheeks, — the  hue  that  blushes  on  the  rose. 

Or  tints  the  peach.     Now,  now  that  manlier  oil 

Bring  hither,  maidens,  such  as  Castor  used. 

And  Hercules,  and  bring  a  golden  comb. 

That  she  may  draw  her  lengthening  tresees  down. 


Callimachus]  hymn  ON  THE  BATH  OF  MINERVA.      427 

And  smooth  her  glossy  hair.     Come,  goddess,  forth ! 
A  pleasing  band  awaits  thee  :  virgins  sprung 
From  great  Ancestor's  tribe.     To  thee  the  shield 
Of  Diomed  is  borne  in  customed  rite, 
Which  thy  loved  priest,  Eumedes,  taught  of  yore. 
He,  when  the  plotting  multitude  devised 
The  stratagems  of  death,  fled,  clasping  close 
Thy  hallowed  image  :  to  the  Crean  moutit 
He  fled,  and  placed  it  on  the  steepy  rocks, 
Named  thence  Palladian.     Come,  Minerva,  forth ! 
City-destroyer !  golden-helmed !  who  lovest 
The  din  of  neighing  steeds  and  clashing  shields ! 
This  day,  ye  water-bearing  damsels,  draw 
From  fountains  only,  and  forbear  the  streams  : 
This  day,  ye  handmaids,  dip  your  urns  in  springs 
Of  Physidea,  or  the  limpid  well 
Of  Anymone  ;  for  from  mountains  green 
With  pasture  shall  th'  Inachian  river  roll 
A  goodly  bath  for  Pallas,  mingling  gold 
And  flowerets  with  its  waters.     But  beware, 
Pelasgian,  lest  thy  undesigning  glance 
Surprise  the  queen  Minerva.     He  that  views 
The  naked  form  of  Pallas,  with  last  look 
Hath  seen  the  towns  of  Argos.     Come  then  forth, 
August  Minerva !     I  meantime  address 
These  thy  fair  maids,  in  legendary  lore  ; 
Not  from  myself;  for  others  sang  the  tale. 
Maidens,  in  times  of  old,  Minerva  loved 
A  fair  companion  with  exceeding  love, 
The  mother  of  Tiresias ;  nor  apart 
Lived  they  a  moment.     Whether  she  her  steeds 
Drove  to  the  Thespians  old,  or  musky  groves 
Of  Coroneaj,  and  Curalius'  banks. 
That  smoke  with  fragrant  altars,  or  approached 


428  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Callimachits 

To  Haliartus,  and  Boeotia's  fields, 

Still  in  the  chariot  by  her  side  she  placed 

The  nymph  Chariclo  :  nor  the  prattlings  sweet, 

Nor  dances  of  the  nymphs,  to  her  were  sweet 

Unless  Chariclo  spoke,  or  led  the  dance. 

Yet  for  the  nymj^h  Chariclo  Avas  reserved 

A  store  of  tears, — for  her  the  favored  nymph. 

The  pleasing  partner  of  Minerva's  hours. 

For  once,  on  Helicon,  they  loosed  the  clasps 

That  held  their  flowing  robes,  and  bathed  their  limbs 

In  Ilippocrene,  that,  beauteous,  glided  by. 

While  noonday  stillness  wrapped  the  mountain  round. 

Both  laved  together ;  'twas  the  time  of  noon, 

And  deep  the  stilly  silence  of  the  mount, 

When,  with  his  dogs  of  chase,  Tiresias  trod 

The  sacred  haunt.     The  darkening  down  just  bloomed 

Upon  his  cheek.     With  thirst  unutterable 

Panting,  he  sought  that  fountain's  gushing  stream, 

Unhappy,  and,  involuntary,  saw 

What  mortal  eyes  not  blameless  may  behold. 

Minerva,  though  incensed,  thus  pitying  spoke  : 

"  Who  to  this  luckless  spot  conducted  thee, 

O  son  of  Everus  ?  who  sightless  hence 

Must  needs  depart !"  she  said,  and  darkness  fell 

On  the  youth's  eyes,  astonished  where  he  stood : 

A  shooting  anguish  all  his  nerves  benumbed, 

And  consternation  chained  his  murmuring  tongue. 

Then  shrieked  the  nymph,  "What,  goddess,  hast  thou  done 

To  this  my  child  ?  are  these  the  tender  acts 

Of  goddesses  ?  thou  hast  bereaved  of  eyes 

My  son.     O  miserable  child  !  thy  gaze 

Has  glanced  upon  the  bosom  and  the  shape 

Of  Pallas,  but  the  sun  thou  must  behold 

No  more.     O  miserable  me  !     O  shades 


Callimachus]  hymn  ON  THE  BATH  OF  MINERVA.      429 

Of  Helicon !  O  mouutain  that  my  steps 

Shall  ne'er  again  ascend !  for  small  offence 

Monstrous  atonement !  thou  art  well  repaid 

For  some  few  straggling  goats  and  hunted  deer 

"With  my  son's  eyes !"     The  nymph  then  folded  close, 

With  both  her  arms,  her  son  so  dearly  loved. 

And  uttered  lamentation,  with  shrill  voice 

And  plaintive,  like  the  mother  nightingale. 

The  goddess  felt  compassion  for  the  nymph, 

The  partner  of  her  soul,  and  softly  said, 

"  Eetract,  divinest  woman,  what  thy  rage, 

Erring,  has  uttered.     'Tis  not  I  that  smite 

Thy  son  with  blindness.     Pallas  hath  no  joy 

To  rob  from  youths  the  lustre  of  their  eyes. 

The  laws  of  Saturn  this  decree.     Whoe'er 

Looks  on  the  being  of  immortal  race. 

Unless  the  willing  god  consent,  must  look 

Thus  at  his  peril,  and  atoning  pay 

The  dreadful  penalty.     This  act  of  fate, 

Divinest  woman,  may  not  be  recalled. 

So  spun  the  Destinies  his  mortal  thread 

When  thou  didst  bear  him.     Son  of  Bverus, 

Take  then  thy  portion.     But  what  hecatombs 

Shall  Aristajus  and  Autonoe 

Hereafter  on  the  smoking  altars  lay. 

So  that  the  youth  Actaeon,  their  sad  son, 

Might  be  but  blind  like  thee  !  for  know  that  youth 

Shall  join  the  great  Diana  in  the  chase ; 

Yet  not  the  chase,  nor  darts  in  common  thrown, 

Shall  save  him,  when  his  undesigning  glance 

Discerns  the  goddess  in  her  loveliness 

Amidst  the  bath.     His  own  unconscious  dogs 

Shall  tear  their  master,  and  his  mother  cull 

His  scattered  bones,  wild-wandering  through  the  woods. 


430  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.      [Callimachus 

That  mothoi',  nymph,  shall  call  thee  blest,  who  now 

Eeceivest  from  the  mount  thy  sightless  son. 

Oh,  weep  no  more,  companion !  for  thy  sake 

I  yet  have  ample  recompense  in  store 

For  this  thy  son.     Behold  !  I  bid  him  rise 

A  prophet,  far  o'er  every  seer  renowned 

To  future  ages.     He  shall  read  the  flights 

Of  birds,  and  know  whatever  on  the  wing 

Hovers  auspicious,  or  ill-omened  flies, 

Or  void  of  auspice.     Many  oracles 

To  the  Boeotians  shall  his  tongue  reveal, 

To  Cadmus,  and  the  great  Labdacian  tribe. 

I  will  endow  him  with  a  mighty  staff. 

To  guide  his  steps  aright ;  and  I  will  give 

A  lengthened  boundary  to  his  mortal  life  ; 

And,  when  he  dies,  he  only  'midst  the  dead 

Shall  dwell  inspired,  and  honored  by  that  king 

Who  rules  the  shadowy  people  of  the  grave." 

She  spoke,  and  gave  the  nod.     What  Pallas  wills 
Is  sure ;  in  her,  of  all  his  daughters,  Jove 
Bade  all  the  glories  of  her  father  shine. 
Maids  of  the  bath,  no  mother  brought  her  forth  ; 
Sprung  from  the  head  of  Jove.     Whate'er  the  head 
Of  Jove,  inclining,  ratifies,  the  same 
Stands  firm ;  and  thus  his  daughter's  nod  is  fate. 

She  comes  !  in  very  truth,  Minerva  comes ! 
Eeccive  the  goddess,  damsels,  ye  whose  hearts 
With  tender  ties  your  native  Argos  binds, 
Eeceive  the  goddess,  with  exulting  hails, 
With  vows  and  shouts.     Hail,  goddess !  oh,  protect 
Inachian  Argos !  hail !  and  when  thou  turn'st 
Thy  coursers  hence,  or  hitherward  again 
G-uidest  thy  chariot-wheels,  oh,  still  preserve 
The  fortunes  of  the  race  from  Danaus  sprung ! 


NeposJ  historical  SELECTIONS.  431 


HISTORICAL  SELECTIONS. 

VARIOUS. 

[In  addition  to  the  historians  from  whose  works  we  have  offered 
selections,  Greece  and  Kome  produced  many  others  of  a  lower  grade 
of  ability,  from  some  of  whom  we  make  brief  extracts.  One  of  the 
most  important  of  them,  in  a  literary  sense,  was  Cornelius  Nepos,  of 
whose  works  we  possess  the  "Lives  of  Illustrious  Men,"  a  series  of 
beautifully  written  biographies,  which  display  admirable  power  in 
character-drawing.  We  offer  from  this  work  the  following  sketch  of 
one  of  the  noblest  of  the  Greeks.] 

ARISTIDES. 

Aristides,  the  son  of  Lysimachus,  a  native  of  Athens, 
was  almost  of  the  same  age  with  Themistoeles,  and  con- 
tended with  him,  consequently,  for  pre-eminence,  as  they 
were  determined  rivals  one  to  the  other ;  and  it  was  seen 
in  their  case  how  much  eloquence  could  prevail  over  in- 
tegrity; for,  though  Aristides  was  so  distinguished  for 
uprightness  of  conduct  that  he  was  the  only  person  in  the 
memory  of  man  (so  far  at  least  as  I  have  heard)  who  was 
called  by  the  surname  of  Just,  yet,  being  overborne  by 
Themistoeles  with  the  ostracism,  he  was  condemned  to  be 
banished  for  ten  years. 

Aristides,  finding  that  the  excited  multitude  could  not 
be  appeased,  and  noticing,  as  he  yielded  to  their  violence, 
a  person  writing  that  he  ought  to  be  banished,  is  said  to 
have  asked  him  "  why  he  did  so,  or  what  Aristides  had 
done,  that  he  should  be  thought  deserving  of  such  a  pun- 
ishment." The  person  writing  replied  that  "  he  did  not 
know  Aristides,  but  that  he  was  not  pleased  that  he  had 
labored  to  be  called  Just  beyond  other  men." 


432  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Nepos 

He  did  not  suffer  the  full  sentence  of  ten  years  apj)ointed 
by  law,  for  when  Xerxes  made  a  descent  upon  Greece  he 
was  recalled  into  his  country  by  a  decree  of  the  people, 
about  six  years  after  he  had  been  exiled. 

He  was  present,  however,  in  the  sea-fight  at  Salamis, 
which  was  fought  before  he  was  allowed  to  return.  He 
was  also  commander  of  the  Athenians  at  Plataea,  in  the 
battle  in  which  Mardonius  was  routed  and  the  army  of  the 
barbarians  was  cut  off.  Nor  is  there  any  other  celebrated 
act  of  his  in  military  affairs  recorded,  besides  the  account 
of  this  command ;  but  of  his  justice,  equity,  and  self-control 
there  are  many  instances.  Above  all,  it  was  through  his 
integrity,  when  he  was  joined  in  command  of  the  common 
fleet  of  Grreece  with  Pausanias,  under  whose  leadership 
Mardonius  had  been  put  to  flight,  that  the  supreme  au- 
thority at  sea  was  transferred  from  the  Lacedaemonians  to 
the  Athenians ;  for  before  that  time  the  Lacedemonians 
had  the  command  both  by  sea  and  land.  But  at  this 
period  it  happened,  thi-ough  the  indiscreet  conduct  of  Pau- 
sanias, and  the  equity  of  Aristides,  that  all  the  states  of 
Greece  attached  themselves  as  allies  to  the  Athenians,  and 
chose  them  as  their  leaders  against  the  barbarians. 

In  order  that  they  might  repel  the  barbarians  more 
easily,  if  perchance  they  should  try  to  renew  the  war, 
Aristides  was  chosen  to  settle  what  sum  of  money  each 
state  should  contribute  for  building  fleets  and  equipping 
troops.  By  his  appointment  four  hundred  and  sixty  tal- 
ents were  deposited  annually  at  Delos,  which  they  fixed 
upon  to  be  the  common  treasury ;  but  all  this  money  was 
afterwards  removed  to  Athens. 

How  great  was  his  integrity  there  is  no  more  certain 
proof  than  that,  though  he  had  been  at  the  head  of  such 
important  affairs,  he  died  in  such  poverty  that  he  scarcely 
left  money  enough  to  defray  the  charges  of  his  funeral. 


Paterculus]         historical  SELECTIONS.  433 

Hence  it  was  that  his  daughters  were  brought  up  at  the 
expense  of  the  country,  and  were  married  with  dowries 
given  them  from  the  public  treasury.  He  died  about  four 
years  after  Tlaemistocles  was  banished  from  Athens. 

[Velleius  Paterculus,  a  Koman  historian,  born  in  19  B.C.,  makes  the 
following  trenchant  remarks  on  the  baseness  of  the  slaughter  of  Cicero 
by  Mark  Antonj'.] 

CICERO   AND   ANTONY. 

Nothing  reflects  more  disgrace  upon  that  period  than 
that  either  Caesar  [Octavianus  Cajsai-,  or  Augustus]  should 
have  been  forced  to  proscribe  any  person,  or  that  Cicero 
should  have  been  proscribed  by  him,  and  that  the  advocate 
of  the  public  should  have  been  cut  off  by  the  villany  of 
Anton}^,  no  one  defending  him  who   for  so  many  years 
had  defended  as  well  the  cause  of  the  public  as  the  causes 
of  individuals.     But  you  have  gained  nothing,  Mark  An- 
tony (for  the    indignation  bursting  from  my  mind   and 
heart  compels  me  to  say  what  is  at  variance  with  the 
character  of  this  work),  you  have  gained  nothing,  I  say, 
by  paying  the  hire  for  closing  those  divine  lips  and  cut- 
ting off   that  noble  head,  and  by  procuring,  for  a  fatal 
reward,  the  death  of  a  man  once  so  great  as  a  consul  and 
the  preserver  of  the  commonwealth.     You  dejirived  Mar- 
cus Cicero  of  a  life  full  of  trouble,  and  of  a  feeble  old  age ; 
an  existence  more  unhappy  under  your  ascendency  than 
death  under  your  triumvirate ;  but  of  the  fame  and  glory 
of  his  actions  and  writings  you  have  been  so  far  from 
despoiling  him  that  you  have  even  increased  it.     He  lives, 
and  will  live  in  the  memory  of  all  succeeding  ages.     And 
as  long  as  this  body  of  the  universe,  whether  framed  by 
chance,  or  by  wisdom,  or  by  whatever  means,  which  he, 
almost  alone  of  the  Romans,  penetrated  with  his  genius, 
I. — T       cc  37 


434  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cubtixjs 

comprehended  in  his  imagination,  and  illustrated  by  his 
eloquence,  shall  continue  to  exist,  it  will  carry  the  praise 
of  Cicero  as  its  companion  in  duration.  All  posterity 
will  admire  his  writings  against  you,  and  execrate  your 
conduct  towards  him ;  and  sooner  shall  the  race  of  man 
fail  in  the  world  than  his  name  decay. 

[From  Quintus  Curtius,  who  wrote  a  history  of  the  "  Achievements 
of  Alexander  the  Great,"  we  select  the  following  interesting  extract,  as 
illustrative  of  the  character  of  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  Greek  race.] 

CORRESPONDENCE   BETWEEN   DARIUS   AND   ALEXANDER. 

Here  letters  were  brought  to  Alexander  from  Darius  at 
which  he  was  very  much  incensed,  they  being  written  in 
a  very  haughty  style.  But  what  vexed  him  most  was 
that  Darius  therein  wrote  himself  king,  without  giving 
Alexander  that  title,  and  required,  rather  than  desired, 
that  he  would  restore  to  him  his  mother,  wife,  and  chil- 
dren [whom  Alexander  had  captured  after  his  victory  at 
Issus],  promising  for  their  ransom  as  much  money  as  all 
Macedonia  was  worth ;  and  as  for  the  empire,  he  would 
try  for  it  again,  if  he  pleased,  in  a  fresh  action.  At  the 
same  time  he  advised  him,  if  he  was  still  capable  of  whole- 
some advice,  to  be  contented  with  his  own  dominions,  and 
to  retire  from  that  empire  he  had  no  right  to,  and,  from 
being  an  enemy,  to  become  a  friend  and  ally,  he  being 
ready  both  to  give  and  receive  any  engagements  on  that 
account.  To  this  letter  Alexander  made  answer  much 
after  this  manner : 

"  Alexander,  King,  to  Darius : — That  prince  whose  name 
you  have  taken,  having  committed  great  hostilities  uj^on 
those  Greeks  who  inhabit  the  coast  of  the  Hellespont,  and 
also  on  the  Ionian  colonies,  who  are  also  Greeks,  put  to  sea 
with  a  powerful  fleet  and  army,  and  invaded  Macedonia 


Flobus]  historical  SELECTIONS.  435 

and  Greece.  Aftei'  this,  Xerxes,  who  was  a  prince  of  the 
same  family,  attacked  us  with  an  infinite  number  of  bar- 
barians ;  and,  notwithstanding  he  was  beaten  at  sea,  yet 
he  left  Mardonius  in  Greece,  to  pillage  the  cities  in  his 
absence  and  burn  the  country.  Besides  all  which,  who 
does  not  know  that  my  father  Philip  was  inhumanly  mur- 
dered by  those  you  had  basely  corrupted  with  your  money  ? 
You  make  no  scruple  to  enter  upon  unjust  wars,  and, 
although  you  do  not  want  arms,  you  unworthily  set  a 
price  upon  the  heads  of  your  enemies,  yourself  having 
given  a  late  instance  of  that  in  offering  a  thousand  talents 
to  him  that  would  murder  me,  though  you  had  a  mighty 
army  at  command.  It  is  plain,  therefore,  that  I  am  not 
the  aggressor,  but  repel  force  by  force ;  and  the  gods,  Avho 
always  side  with  the  just  cause,  have  already  made  me 
master  of  great  part  of  Asia,  and  given  me  a  signal  victory 
over  you  yourself.  However,  though  you  have  no  reason 
to  exj)ect  any  favor  at  my  hands  (since  you  have  not  so 
much  as  observed  the  laws  of  war  towards  me),  yet,  if 
you  come  to  me  in  a  suppliant  manner,  I  promise  you  you 
shall  receive  your  mother,  wife,  and  children  without  any 
ransom  at  all.  I  know  how  to  conquer,  and  how  to  use 
the  conquered.  If  you  are  afraid  to  venture  your  person 
with  me,  I  am  ready  to  give  you  sureties  for  your  doing 
it  with  safety.  But  I  would  have  you  remember  for  the 
future,  when  you  write  to  me,  that  you  do  not  only  write 
to  a  king,  but  also  to  your  own  king." 

[L.  Annajus  Florus,  author  of  a  Summary  of  Roman  history,  thus 
happily  condenses  the  story  of  Hannibal's  greatest  victory.] 

THE   BATTLE  OP   CANN^. 

The  fourth,  and  almost  mortal,  wound  of  the  Eoman 
empire   was    at    Cannse,   an    obscure   village   of   Apulia ; 


436  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Florus 

which,  however,  became  famous  by  the  greatness  of  the 
defeat,  its  celebrity  being  acquired  by  the  slaughter  of 
forty  thousand  men.  Here  the  general,  the  ground,  the 
face  of  heaven,  the  day,  indeed  all  nature,  conspired  to- 
gether for  the  destruction  of  the  unfortunate  army.  For 
Hannibal,  the  most  artful  of  generals,  not  content  with 
sending  pretended  deserters  among  the  Romans,  who  fell 
upon  their  rear  as  they  were  fighting,  but  having  also 
noted  the  nature  of  the  ground  in  those  open  plains,  where 
the  heat  of  the  sun  is  extremely  violent,  the  dust  very 
great,  and  the  wind  blows  constantly,  and  as  it  were 
statedly,  from  the  east,  drew  up  his  army  in  such  a  posi- 
tion that,  while  the  Bomans  were  exposed  to  all  these 
inconveniences,  he  himself,  having  heaven,  as  it  were,  on 
his  side,  fought  with  wind,  dust,  and  sun  in  his  favor. 
Two  vast  armies,  in  consequence,  were  slaughtered  till  the 
enemy  were  satiated,  and  till  Hannibal  said  to  his  soldiers, 
"  Put  up  your  swords."  Of  the  two  commanders,  one 
escaped,  the  other  was  slain ;  which  of  them  showed  the 
greater  spirit  is  doubtful.  Paulus  was  ashamed  to  survive ; 
Varro  did  not  despair.  Of  the  greatness  of  the  slaughter 
the  following  proofs  may  be  noticed :  that  the  Aufidus 
was  for  some  time  red  with  blood;  that  a  bridge  was  made 
of  dead  bodies,  by  order  of  Hannibal,  over  the  torrent  of 
Vergellus;  and  that  two  modii  [nearly  three  and  three- 
quarter  gallons]  of  rings  were  sent  to  Carthage,  and  the 
equestrian  dignity  estimated  by  measure. 

It  was  afterwards  not  doubted  but  that  Rome  might 
have  seen  its  last  day,  and  that  Hannibal,  within  five  days, 
might  have  feasted  in  the  Capitol,  if  (as  they  say  that 
Adherbal,  the  Carthaginian,  the  son  of  Bomilcar,  observed) 
"  he  had  known  as  well  how  to  use  his  victory  as  how  to 
gain  it."  But  at  that  crisis,  as  is  generally  said,  cither 
the  fate  of  the  city  that  was  to  be  empress  of  the  world. 


Justin]  HISTORICAL  SELECTIONS.  437 

or  his  own  want  of  judgment,  and  the  influence  of  deities 
unfavorable  to  Carthage,  carried  him  in  a  different  direc- 
tion. When  he  might  have  taken  advantage  of  his  victory, 
he  chose  rather  to  seek  enjoyment  from  it,  and,  leaving 
Eome,  to  march  into  Campania  and  to  Tarentum,  where 
both  he  and  his  army  soon  lost  their  vigor,  so  that  it  was 
justly  remarked  that  "  Capua  proved  a  Cannse  to  Han- 
nibal ;"  since  the  sunshine  of  Campania,  and  the  warm 
springs  of  Baise,  subdued  (who  could  have  believed  it  ?) 
him  who  had  been  unconquered  by  the  Alps  and  unshaken 
in  the  field.  In  the  mean  time  the  Romans  began  to  re- 
cover, and  to  rise  as  it  were  from  the  dead.  They  had  no 
arms,  but  they  took  them  down  from  the  temples ;  men 
were  wanting,  but  slaves  were  freed  to  take  the  oath  of 
service ;  the  treasury  was  exhausted,  but  the  senate  will- 
ingly offered  their  wealth  for  the  public  service,  leaving 
themselves  no  gold  but  what  was  contained  in  their  chil- 
dren's hullce  [neck-ornaments]  and  in  their  own  belts  and 
rings.  The  knights  followed  their  example,  and  the  com- 
mon people  that  of  the  knights ;  so  that  when  the  wealth 
of  the  private  persons  was  brought  to  the  public  treasury 
(in  the  consulship  of  Lsevinus  and  Marcellus)  the  registers 
scarcely  sufficed  to  contain  the  account  of  it,  or  the  hands 
of  the  clerks  to  record  it. 

[We  shall  conclude  this  series  of  historical  selections  with  a  neatly- 
rendered  contrast  of  the  two  great  Macedonian  monarchs,  by  Justin,  a 
late  Roman  writer.] 

COMPARISON    OP   PHILIP   AND   ALEXANDER. 

Philip  took  more  pains  and  had  more  pleasure  in  the 
preparation  of  a  battle  than  in  the  arrangement  of  a  feast. 
Money  was  to  him  only  a  sinew  of  war.  He  knew  better 
how  to  acquire  riches  than  how  to  preserve  them,  and, 
living  on  plunder,  was  always  poor.  It  cost  him  no  more 
i^  37* 


438  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Justin 

to  pardon  than  to  deceive.  His  conversation  was  sweet 
and  alluring.  He  was  prodigal  of  promises,  which  he  did 
not  keep ;  and  whether  he  were  serious  or  gay,  he  had 
always  a  design  at  the  bottom.  His  constant  maxim 
was  to  caress  those  whom  he  hated,  to  instigate  quarrels 
between  those  who  loved  him,  and  separately  to  flatter 
each  party,  whom  he  had  alienated  from  the  other.  Ho 
was  possessed  of  eloquence,  had  a  ready  apprehension, 
and  a  graceful  delivery.  He  had  for  his  successor  his  son 
Alexander,  who  had  greater  virtues  and  greater  vices  than 
himself.  Both  triumphed  over  their  enemies,  although 
by  different  means.  The  one  employed  open  force  only ; 
the  other  had  recourse  to  artifice.  The  one  congratulated 
himself  when  he  had  deceived  his  enemies,  the  other  when 
he  had  conquered  them.  Philip  had  more  policy,  Alexan- 
der more  dignity.  The  father  knew  how  to  dissemble  his 
rage,  and  sometimes  to  conquer  it ;  the  son  in  his  ven- 
geance knew  neither  delay  nor  bounds.  Both  loved  wine 
too  well ;  but  drunkenness,  which  oj)ens  the  heart,  produced 
different  effects  in  them.  Philip,  in  going  from  a  feast, 
went  to  seek  for  danger,  and  exposed  himself  with  temer- 
ity ;  Alexander  turned  his  rage  against  the  associates 
of  his  revelry.  The  one  often  returned  from  battle  cov- 
ered with  wounds  received  from  his  enemies ;  the  other 
rose  from  table  defiled  with  the  blood  of  his  friends. 
The  father  wished  to  be  loved ;  the  son  desired  only  to  be 
feared.  Both  cultivated  letters,  the  former  through  policy, 
the  latter  through  taste.  The  one  affected  more  modera- 
tion to  his  enemies,  the  other  had  in  reality  more  clemency 
and  good  faith.  It  was  with  these  different  qualities  that 
the  father  laid  the  foundation  of  the  empire  of  the  world, 
and  that  the  son  had  the  glory  of  completing  the  illus- 
trious achievement. 


Litcian]  dialogues  OF  THE  DEAD.  439 


DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD. 

LUCIAN. 

[To  the  extract  already  made  from  the  writings  of  Lucian  we  add 
some  further  examples  of  his  pungently-written  dialogues.  His  satire 
was  mainly  directed  against  the  fables  of  mythology,  which  he  handled 
with  a  freedom  that  would  have  been  dangerous  had  the  old  faith  still 
possessed  any  vitality.  From  the  amusing  "  Dialogues  of  the  Dead," 
as  translated  by  Francklin,  we  select  some  of  the  more  interesting.] 

DIALOGUE  VII. 
Menippus  and  Mercury. 

Men.  Where  are  your  beauties  of  both  sexes,  Mercury  ? 
I  am  a  stranger  here,  but  just  arrived,  and  therefore  beg 
you  would  conduct  me  to  them. 

Mer.  Menippus,  I  have  not  time  for  that  at  present: 
turn,  however,  to  your  right  hand,  and  you  will  see  Hya- 
cinthus,  and  Narcissus,  and  Nereus,  and  Achilles,  and  Tyi'O, 
and  Helen,  and  Leda,  and  the  rest  of  them,  the  admiration 
of  former  ages. 

Men.  I  see  nothing  but  bones,  and  skulls  without  hair: 
they  all  look  alike. 

Mer.  Those  bones  and  skulls,  which  you  seem  to  despise, 
were  the  very  persons  whom  the  poets  so  extol. 

3£en.  Show  me  Helen,  I  beseech  you ;  for  I  cannot  dis- 
tinguish her. 

Mer.  Yonder  bald-pate  is  she. 

Men.  And  wez-e  a  thousand  ships  manned  from  every 
part  of  Grreece,  were  so  many  Greeks  and  barbarians  slain, 
and  so  many  cities  destroyed,  for  her  ? 

Mer.  You  never  saw  her  when  she  was  alive :  if  you  had, 
you  would  not  have  wondered.     As  the  poet  says, — 


440  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucian 

"  No  wonder  sucli  celestial  charms, 
For  nine  long  years,  have  set  the  world  in  arms." 

When  the  flower  is  withered,  and  has  lost  its  color,  it  be- 
comes disgustful,  though  whilst  it  grew  and  flourished  it 
was  universally  admired. 

Me7i.  All  I  wonder  at,  Mercury,  is  that  the  Grecians  did 
not  consider  how  ridiculous  it  was  to  give  themselves  so 
much  trouble  about  an  object  of  such  a  short-lived  and 
decaying  nature. 

Mer.  I  have  no  leisure  time  to  philosophize  with  you, 
Menippus,  so  repose  yourself  where  you  please :  I  must  go 
and  fetch  down  some  more  mortals. 

DIALOGUE   IX. 
Charon,  Menippus,  and  Mercury. 

Char.  You  rascal,  pay  me  my  fare. 

Men.  Bawl  away,  Charon,  if  you  like  it. 

Char.  Pay  me,  I  say,  for  bringing  you  over. 

Men.  From  him  who  has  nothing,  nothing  can  you 
receive. 

Char.  Can  a  man  be  w^ithout  one  farthing  ? 

Men.  I  do  not  know  what  others  may  be,  but  sure  I  am 
I  have  it  not. 

Char.  Give  it  me  this  moment,  or  I  will  strangle  you. 

Meyi.  I  will  break  your  head  with  this  stick. 

Char.  Do  you  think  I  will  carry  you  such  a  voyage  for 
nothing  ? 

Men.  Let  Mercury  pay  for  me  :  he  brought  me  to  you. 

Mer.  A  fine  bargain,  indeed,  I  should  have,  to  pay  for  all 
the  dead  men  I  bring  down ! 

Char.  I  shall  not  let  you  go. 

Men.  Haul  your  boat  ashore,  then.  But  how  will  you 
take  from  me  what  I  have  not  got  ? 


Lucian]  dialogues  OF  THE  DEAD.  441 

Char.  Did  not  you  know  you  were  to  bring  something 
for  nie  ? 

Men.  I  did ;  but  I  had  nothing,  and  for  that  reason  was 
not  I  to  die  ? 

Char.  You  will  be  the  only  one  that  could  ever  boast  of 
beins:  ferried  over  £:rati8. 

Men.  Not  so,  either :  I  pumped  for  you,  nay,  and  han- 
dled an  oar :  besides,  I  was  the  only  one  of  your  passen- 
gers who  did  not  cry  and  howl. 

Char.  That  is  nothing  to  the  fare  :  you  must  give  me 
my  farthing,  it  cannot  be  otherwise. 

Men.  Carry  me  back  again,  then,  to  the  other  world. 

Char.  Thank  you  for  that ;  and  so  get  well  beat  by 
iEacus  for  it. 

Men.  Then  do  not  be  troublesome. 

Char.  Show  me  what  you  have  got  in  your  bag. 

Men.  There  are  some  lupines  for  you,  if  you  will :  they 
are  Hecate's  supper. 

Char.  Mercury,  what  did  you  bring  this  poor  dog  here 
for,  to  prate  all  the  voyage,  and  jest  upon  all  the  passen- 
gers, he  laughing  and  singing,  and  they  crying  all  the 
time  ? 

Mer.  Do  not  you  know,  Charon,  who  it  is  you  have 
brought  over  ?  a  free  man,  I  assure  you,  and  one  that  cares 
for  nobody.     It  is  Menippus. 

Char.  If  ever  I  catch  him 

3Ien.  But  i-emember,  my  friend,  you  cannot  catch  me 

twice. 

DIALOGUE   XVI. 

Mixos  and  Sostkatus. 

Min.  Let  this  ruffian  Sostratus  be  cast  in  Phlegethon, 

and  that  sacrilegious  fellow  torn  in  pieces  by  the  Chimajra; 

and — do  you  hear,  Mercury  ? — chain  down  the  tyrant  along 

with  Tityus,  and  let  the  vultures  gnaw  his  liver :  but  go, 


442  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucian 

ye  good  and  virtuous,  into  the  Elysian  Fields,  inhabit  the 
islands  of  the  blest,  as  a  reward  for  your  piety  and  virtue 
whilst  on  earth. 

Sos.  Do  but  hear  me  first,  Minos,  whether  I  am  right  or 
not. 

3Iin.  What!  hear  you  again?  Do  you  not  stand  con- 
victed already  of  being  a  villain,  and  killing  so  many 
people  ? 

Sos.  Granted :  but  consider  whether  my  punishment  is 
just  or  not. 

Min.  Most  certainly;  if  every  one  should  have  the  re- 
ward which  they  deserve. 

Sos.  But  pray,  Minos,  answer  me  one  short  question, 

Min.  Ask  it ;  but  be  brief,  that  I  may  have  time  to  hear 
some  other  causes. 

Sos.  Whatever  I  did  whilst  on  earth,  did  I  do  it  of  my 
own  accord,  or  was  I  compelled  to  it  by  fate  ? 

Min.  By  fate  ;  no  doubt  of  it. 

Sos.  And  in  obedience  to  that  do  we  not  all  act  ? — those 
who  are  called  good,  and  we  who  seem  to  do  evil  ? 

Min.  Most  certainly ;  as  Clotho  enjoins  them,  who  pre- 
ordains what  every  man  shall  do,  from  the  moment  of  his 
birth. 

Sos.  If  a  man,  therefore,  kills  another,  being  obliged  to 
do  it  by  one  whom  he  dare  not  disobey, — a  hangman,  for 
instance,  by  command  of  the  judge,  or  an  ofiiccr,  by  order 
of  the  king, — who  is  guilty  of  the  murder  ? 

Min.  The  judge,  or  the  king,  undoubtedly;  it  cannot  be 
the  sword,  which  is  no  more  than  an  instrument  to  fulfil 
the  desire  of  him  who  directs  the  use  of  it. 

Sos.  Excellent  Minos,  thus,  in  support  of  my  axiom,  to 
add  a  corollary!  Again,  if  any  one,  sent  by  his  master, 
brings  me  gold  or  silver,  whom  am  I  to  thank  for  it?  to 
whom  am  I  indebted  for  the  favor  ? 


LuciAN]  DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  443 

Min.  To  him  who  sent  it :  the  man  who  brought  it  was 
only  agent  to  the  other. 

Sos.  Do  not  you  perceive,  therefore,  how  unjust  it  is  to 
punish  me,  who  was  only  an  instrument  employed  to  do 
those  things  which  Clotho  had  commanded,  and  to  reward 
those  who.  only  administered  the  good  imparted  to  them 
by  others  ?  You  can  never  say  it  was  possible  to  act  in 
opposition  to  the  dictates  of  necessity. 

Min.  On  a  diligent  inquiry,  Sostratus,  you  will  find  out 
many  things  of  this  kind  not  easily  to  be  accounted  for ; 
and  all  you  can  gain  by  your  discoveries  will  be,  to  the  title 
of  thief  to  add  that  of  sophist  also :  however,  let  him  go, 
Mercury,  without  any  further  punishment ;  but  take  care 
you  do  not  teach  other  ghosts  to  ask  the  same  questions. 

DIALOGUE    XXII. 

Charon,  Mercury,  and  Dead  Men. 

Charon.  Look  ye,  gentlemen,  thus  affairs  stand :  we  have 
but  a  small  boat,  as  you  see,  and  that  half  rotten,  and  leaky 
in  many  places,  if  you  lean  it  on  one  side  or  other  we 
overset,  and  go  to  the  bottom ;  and  yet  so  many  of  you 
will  press  in,  and  every  one  carrying  his  baggage  with 
him;  if  you  do  not  leave  it  behind  I  am  afraid  you  will 
repent  it,  esj^ecially  those  who  cannot  swim. 

Dead  Men.  What  must  we  do  to  got  safe  over  ? 

Char.  I  will  tell  you ;  you  must  get  in  naked,  and  then 
my  boat  will  scarce  be  able  to  carry  you ;  you.  Mercury, 
must  take  care  and  let  none  come  in  but  those  who  are 
stark  naked  and  have  left  all  their  trumpery  behind  them; 
stand  at  the  head  of  the  boat,  and  make  them  strip  before 
they  come  on  board. 

Mer.  Eight,  Charon,  so  I  will.     Who  is  this  first  ? 

Menippus.  I  have  thrown  my  pouch  and  my  staff  in 
before  me,  my  coat  I  did  right  to  leave  behind  me. 


444  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Lucian 

Mer.  My  honest  friend  Menippiis,  come  in,  take  you  the 
first  seat  at  the  hehn,  near  the  pilot,  and  observe  who 
comes.     But  who  is  this  pretty  fellow  ? 

Charmoleus.  I  am  the  handsome  Charmoleus  of  Megara; 
a  kiss  of  me  sold  for  two  talents. 

Mer.  Please  to  part  with  your  beauty,  your  ponderous 
head  of  hair,  your  sweet  kissing  lips,  rosy  cheeks,  and  fine 
skin.  It  is  well ;  you  are  fit  to  come  in,  and  may  now 
enter.  But  there  comes  a  fine  fellow,  clothed  in  purple, 
with  a  diadem  on  his  head.     Who  are  you  ? 

Lampichus.  Lampichus,  king  of  the  Geloans. 

Mer.  What  is  all  that  baggage  for,  you  have  brought 
with  you  ? 

Layn.  Was  it  fitting  that  a  king  should  come  without 
anything  ? 

Mer.  A  king  should  not,  but  a  dead  man  should :  there- 
fore down  with  them. 

Lam.  There ;  I  have  thrown  away  all  my  riches. 

Mer.  Throw  away  your  pride  and  ostentation  also,  for  if 
3'ou  bring  them  in  with  you  you  will  sink  the  boat. 

Lam.  At  least  let  me  keep  my  diadem  and  my  cloak. 

Mer.  By  no  means ;  oif  with  them  immediately. 

Lavi.  Be  it  so ;  now  I  have  thrown  away  everything ; 
what  more  must  I  jDart  with  ? 

Mer.  Your  cruelty,  your  folly,  your  insolence,  and  your 
anger. 

Lam.  Now  I  am  stark  naked. 

Mer.  Come  in,  then.  .  .  .  You,  Crates,  too,  must  lay  aside 
your  riches,  your  luxury,  and  effeminacy ;  nor  must  you 
bring  the  epitaphs  made  upon  you,  nor  your  glory,  nor  your 
genealogy,  nor  the  dignity  of  your  ancestors.  .  .  .  Even  so 
much  as  the  recollection  of  these  things  is  enough  to  weigh 
the  boat  down. 

Crates.  If  I  must,  I  must.     What  is  to  be  done  ? 


LuciAN]  DIALOGUES  OF  THE  DEAD.  445 

Mer.  What  do  you  do  with  armor,  and  what  arc  these 
trophies  for? 

Crates.  Because,  Mercury,  I  am  a  conqueror,  and  have 
done  noble  deeds,  therefore  did  the  city  reward  me  with 
these  honors. 

Mer.  Leave  your  trophies  on  earth  ;  here  below  we  have 
always  peace,  and  arms  are  of  no  use.  But  who  is  this,  in 
that  grave  and  solemn  habit,  so  proud  and  haughty,  wrapt 
in  meditation,  with  a  long  beard,  and  contracted  brow  ? 

3Ien.  Some  philosopher,  I  warrant  you,  some  juggler, 
full  of  portents  and  prodigies.  Strip  him,  by  all  means : 
you  will  find  something  purely  ridiculous  under  that  cloak 
of  his. 

Mer.  First,  then,  off  with  that  habit,  and  then  every- 
thing else.  Oh,  Jupiter,  what  ignorance,  impudence,  and 
vainglory,  what  a  heap  of  ambiguous  questions,  knotty 
disputes,  and  pei'plexed  thoughts,  docs  he  carry  about  him ! 
what  a  deal  of  fruitless  diligence,  solemn  trifles,  and  small 
talk !  Away  with  your  riches,  3'our  pleasui-es,  your  anger, 
your  luxury,  your  effeminacy,  for  I  see  it  all,  though  you 
endeavor  to  conceal  it, — your  falsehood,  pride,  and  high 
opinion  which  you  have  of  yourself:  should  you  come 
with  all  these,  a  five-oared  bark  would  not  be  sufficient  to 
carry  you. 

Philosopher.  Your  commands  are  obeyed.  I  have  parted 
with  them  all.  .  .  . 

Men.  He  has  got  something  monstrous  heavy  yet  under 
his  arm. 

Mer.  What  is  it,  Menippus  ? 

Men.  Flattery, — which,  whilst  he  lived,  was  of  no  small 
service  to  him. 

Phil.  Do  you,  Menippus,  lay  aside  your  insolence,  your 
flippant  tongue,  your  mii'th,  your  jests  and  ridicule :  you 
are  the  only  laugher  amongst  us, 
I.  38 


446  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenophon 

Mer.  On  no  account,  Menippus,  pax-t  with  them  ;  no,  no : 
keep  thcni  by  all  means,  they  are  light  and  easily  carried ; 
besides,  they  may  be  useful  in  the  voyage :  but  do  you, 
Mr.  Orator,  lay  by  those  contradictions  in  terms,  your 
antitheses,  your  labored  periods,  hyperboles,  barbarisms, 
and  all  that  weight  of  verbosity. 

Rhetorician.  There ;  I  have  put  them  down. 

Mer.  It  is  well.  Now  cut  your  cable,  let  us  weigh  anchor 
and  hoist  our  sails.  Charon,  mind  the  helm :  away,  let  us 
be  merry.  What  do  ye  cry  for,  ye  fools  ?  Imprimis,  you. 
Ml'.  Philosopher,  without  the  beard  there  ? 

Phil.  Because,  Mercury,  I  thought  the  soul  had  been 
immortal. 

Men.  He  lies :  he  grieves  for  another  reason. 

3Ier.  What? 

Meyi.  Because  he  shall  have  no  more  grand  suppers. 


THE  WISDOM  OF  CYRUS. 

XENOPHON. 

[Classic  literature  contains  but  one  prose  romance,  the  "  Cyropsedia, " 
or  "The  Institution  of  Cyrus,"  by  Xenophon.  This  is  in  the  form 
of  a  biography ;  but  such  a  monarch  as  Cyrus  is  assumed  to  be  never 
lived  upon  the  earth,  and  the  wisdom  that  is  imputed  to  him  and  his 
friends  is  of  the  sort  that  takes  no  account  of  the  frailties  of  human 
nature,  and  would  be  likely  not  to  work  very  well  in  practice.  We 
select,  from  Cooper's  translation,  some  illustrative  passages.] 

Cyrus  is  said  to  have  given  this  noble  instance  to  Croe- 
sus, on  a  certain  time,  when  Croesus  suggested  to  him  that 
by  the  multitude  of  presents  that  he  made  he  would  be  a 
beggar,  when  it  was  in  his  power  to  lay  up  at  homo  mighty 


Xenophon]  the   wisdom  OF  CYRUS.  447 

treasures  of  gold  for  the  use  of  one.  It  is  said  that  Cyrus 
then  asked  him  thus  :  "  What  sums  do  you  think  I  should 
now  have  in  possession,  if  I  had  been  hoarding  up  gold, 
as  you  bid  me,  ever  since  I  have  been  in  power?"  and 
that  Croesus,  in  reply,  named  some  mighty  sum ;  and  that 
Cyrus  to  this  said,  "  Well,  Croesus,  do  you  send  with  Hys- 
taspes  here  some  person  that  you  have  most  confidence 
in ;  and  do  you,  Hystaspes,"  said  he,  "  go  about  to  my 
friends,  tell  them  that  I  am  in  want  of  money  for  a  cer- 
tain aff'air  (and  in  reality  I  am  in  want  of  it),  and  bid  them 
furnish  me  with  as  much  as  they  are  each  of  them  able 
to  do ;  and  that,  writing  it  down  and  signing  it,  they  de- 
liver the  letter  to  Croesus's  officer  to  bring  me."  Then 
writing  down  what  he  had  said,  and  signing  it,  he  gave  it 
to  Hystaspes  to  carry  it  to  his  friends,  but  added  in  the 
letter  to  them  all,  "That  they  should  receive  Hystaspes 
as  his  friend."  After  they  had  gone  round,  and  Croesus's 
officer  brought  the  letters,  Hystaspes  said,  "  O  Cyrus,  my 
king,  you  must  now  make  use  of  me  as  a  rich  man,  for 
here  do  I  attend  you  abounding  in  presents  that  have  been 
made  me  on  account  of  your  letter."  Cyrus  on  this  said, 
"  This,  then,  is  one  treasure  to  me,  Croesus ;  but  look  over 
the  others,  and  reckon  up  what  riches  there  are  there 
ready  for  me,  in  case  I  want  for  my  own  use."  Croesus 
on  calculating  is  said  to  have  found  many  times  the  sum 
that  he  told  Cyrus  he  might  now  have  had  in  his  treasury 
if  he  had  hoarded.  When  it  appeared  to  be  thus,  Cyrus 
is  reported  to  have  said, — 

"  You  see,  Croesus,  that  I  have  my  treasures  too ;  but 
\-ou  bid  me  hoard  them  up,  to  be  envied  and  hated  for 
them ;  you  bid  me  place  hired  guards  on  them,  and  in 
those  to  put  my  trust.  But  I  make  my  friends  rich,  and 
reckon  them  to  be  treasures  to  me,  and  guards  both  to 
myself  and  to  all  things  of  value  that  belong  to  us,  and 


448   .  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenophon 

such  as  arc  more  to  be  trusted  than  if  I  set  up  a  guard  of 
hii-elings.  Besides,  there  is  another  thing  that  I  will  tell 
you :  what  the  gods  have  wrought  into  the  souls  of  men, 
and  by  it  have  made  them  all  equally  indigent,  this,  Croe- 
sus, I  am  not  able  to  get  the  better  of;  for  I  am,  as  others 
are,  insatiably  greedy  of  riches :  but  I  reckon  I  dilfer  from 
most  others  in  this,  that  when  they  have  acquired  more 
than  is  sufficient  for  them  some  of  those  treasures  they 
bury  under  ground,  and  some  they  let  decay  and  spoil, 
and  others  they  give  themselves  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
about,  in  telling,  in  measuring,  in  weighing,  airing,  and 
watching  them ;  and,  though  they  have  all  these  things  at 
home,  they  neither  eat  more  than  they  are  able  to  bear, 
for  they  would  burst,  nor  do  thc}^  put  on  more  clothes 
than  they  can  bear,  for  they  would  suifocate,  but  all  their 
superfluous  wealth  they  have  only  for  business  and  trouble. 
Whereas  I  serve  the  gods,  and  am  ever  desirous  of  more ; 
and  when  I  have  acquired  it,  out  of  what  I  find  to  be 
more  than  suffices  me  I  satisfy  the  wants  of  my  friends ; 
and  by  enriching  men  with  it,  and  by  doing  them  kind- 
nesses, I  gain  their  good-will  and  their  friendship,  and 
obtain  security  and  glory,  things  that  do  not  corrupt  and 
spoil,  and  do  not  distress  one  by  overabounding ;  but  glory, 
the  more  there  is  of  it,  the  greater  and  more  noble  it  is, 
and  the  lighter  to  bear,  and  those  that  bear  it.  it  often 
makes  the  lighter  and  easier.  And  that  you  may  be  sen- 
sible of  this,  Croesus,"  said  he,  "  they  that  possess  the 
most,  and  have  most  in  their  custody,  I  do  not  reckon  the 
happiest  men ;  for  then  would  guai'ds  on  the  walls  be  the 
happiest  of  all  men,  for  they  have  the  custody  of  all  there 
is  in  whole  cities;  but  the  person  that  can  acquire  the 
most  with  justice,  and  use  the  most  with  honor,  him  do 
I  reckon  the  happiest  man ;  and  this  I  reckon  to  be 
riches." 


Xenophon]  the  wisdom  OF  CYRUS.  449 

[There  follows  the  description  of  a  grand  procession,  in  the  conduct 
of  which  Xenophon  takes  occasion  to  show  further  his  conception  of 
the  wisdom  of  Cyrus  and  his  officers.] 


Cyrus,  taking  Pheraulas,  one  of  the  inferior  degree  of 
people,  to  be  a  man  of  good  understanding,  a  lover  of  what 
was  beautiful  and  orderly,  and  careful  to  please  him, — the 
same  that  heretofore  sjsoke  of  every  one  being  rewarded 
according  to  his  desert, — and  calling  this  man  to  him,  he 
advised  with  him  how  he  might  make  this  procession  in 
a  manner  that  might  appear  the  most  beautiful  to  his 
friends,  the  most  terrible  to  those  that  were  disaffected, 
and  when,  on  joint  consideration,  they  both  agreed  in  the 
same  things,  he  ordered  Pheraulas  to  take  care  that  the 
procession  should  be  made  the  next  morning,  in  the  man- 
ner that  they  had  thought  proper.  "I  have  ordered," 
said  he,  "  all  to  obey  you  in  the  disposition  and  order  of 
this  procession.  And  that  they  may  attend  to  your  orders 
with  the  more  satisfaction,  take  these  coats,"  said  he,  "and 
carry  them  to  the  commanders  of  the  guards ;  give  these 
habits  for  horsemen  to  the  commanders  of  the  horse,  and 
these  other  coats  to  the  commanders  of  the  chariots."  On 
this  he  took  them  and  carried  them  off.  When  the  com- 
manding officers  saw  him,  they  said  to  him,  "  You  are  a 
great  man,  Pheraulas,  now  that  you  are  to  order  us  what 
we  are  to  do."  "  No,  not  only  so,  by  Jove,"  said  Pheraulas, 
"  but  it  seems  I  am  to  be  a  baggage-bearer  too :  thei^efore  I 
now  bring  you  these  two  habits ;  one  of  them  is  for  your- 
self, the  other  is  for  somebody  else ;  but  do  you  take  which 
of  them  you  please."  He  that  received  the  habit,  on  this 
forgot  his  envy,  and  presently  advised  with  him  which  he 
should  take  ;  then,  giving  his  opinion  which  was  the  best, 
he  said,  "  If  ever  you  charge  me  with  having  given  you 
the  choice  when  I  officiate,  another  time  you  shall  have  me 
i.—dd  38* 


450  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenophon 

officiate  for  you  in  another  manner."  Pheraulas,  having 
made  this  distribution  thus,  as  he  was  ordered,  immediately 
applied  himself  to  the  affairs  of  the  procession,  that  every- 
thing might  be  settled  in  the  handsomest  manner. 

[The  procession  took  place  on  the  following  day,  with  great  splendor. 
It  was  followed  by  a  grand  sacrifice  to  the  sun.] 

After  this,  the  country  thereabouts  being  very  fine,  he 
[Cyrus]  ajjpointed  a  certain  limited  piece  of  ground,  of 
about  five  stadia,  and  bade  them,  nation  by  nation,  put 
their  horses  to  their  speed.  He  himself  rode  the  race  with 
the  Persians,  and  gained  the  victory,  for  he  was  extremely 
well  pi'actised  in  horsemanship.  Among  the  Medes,  Arta- 
batcs  got  the  victory,  for  Cyrus  had  given  him  a  horse. 
Among  the  Syrians,  their  chief  got  the  victory;  among 
the  Armenians,  Tigranes ;  among  the  Hyrcanians,  the  son 
of  the  commander  of  their  horse.  And  among  the  Sacians, 
a  private  man,  with  his  horse,  left  the  other  behind  by 
almost  half  the  course. 

And  on  this  occasion  Cyi'us  is  said  to  have  asked  the 
young  man  if  he  would  accept  of  a  kingdom,  in  exchange 
for  his  horse;  and  the  young  man  is  said  to  have  replied 
thus  :  "  A  kingdom  I  would  not  accept  for  him,  but  I  would 
consent  to  oblige  a  worthy  man  with  him."  Then  Cyrus 
said,  "  Come,  I  will  show  you  where  you  may  throw 
blindfold  and  not  miss  a  worthy  man."  "  By  all  means, 
then,"  said  the  Sacian,  taking  up  a  clod,  "  show  me  where 
I  may  throw  with  this  clod."  Then  Cyrus  showed  him  a 
place  where  a  great  many  of  his  friends  were ;  and  the 
man,  shutting  his  eyes,  threw  his  clod  and  hit  Pheraulas 
as  he  was  riding  by ;  for  Pheraulas  happened  to  be  carry- 
ing some  orders  from  Cyrus,  and  when  ho  was  struck  he 
did  not  turn  aside,  but  went  on  the  business  that  Avas 
ordered  him.     The  Sacian  then,  looking  up,  asked,  "Whom 


Xenophon]  the  wisdom  OF  CYRUS.  451 

he  had  hit  ?"  "  None,  by  Jove,"  said  he,  "  of  those  that  ai*e 
present."  "  But  surely,"  said  the  young  man,  "  it  was  none 
of  those  that  are  absent?"  "Yes,  by  Jovo,"  said  Cyrus, 
"  you  hit  that  man  that  rides  hastily  on  there  by  the 
chariots."  "And  how  came  he  not  to  turn  back?"  said  he. 
Then  Cyrus  said,  "  Why,  in  all  probability  it  is  some  mad- 
man." The  young  man,  hearing  this,  went  to  see  who  it 
was,  and  found  Pheraulas  with  his  chin  all  over  dirt  and 
blood,  for  the  blood  gushed  from  his  nose  on  the  stroke 
that  he  received.  When  he  came  up  to  him,  he  asked  him 
whether  he  had  received  a  blow.  He  answered,  "  Yes, 
as  you  see."  "Then,"  said  he,  "I  make  you  a  present  of 
this  horse."  He  then  asked,  " For  what?"  and  on  this  the 
Sacian  gave  him  a  relation  of  the  things,  and,  in  conclu- 
sion, said,  "  And  I  believe  I  have  not  missed  of  a  worthy 
man."  Pheraulas  then  said,  "  But  if  you  liad  been  wise 
you  had  given  it  to  a  richer  man  than  I ;  but  I  now  accept 
it,  and  beseech  the  gods,  who  have  made  mo  the  receiver 
of  this  blow  from  you,  to  grant  that  I  may  behave  so  as 
to  make  you  not  repent  your  present  to  me."  "  Now,"  said 
he,  "  do  you  mount  my  horse,  and  ride  off  on  liim,  and  I 
will  be  with  you  presently."     Thus  they  parted.  .  .  . 

When  all  was  at  an  end  they  returned  again  to  the  city, 
and  they  that  had  houses  given  them  quartered  in  their 
houses,  and  they  that  had  not,  in  their  ranks.  But  Phe- 
raulas, inviting  the  Sacian  that  presented  him  with  the 
horse,  gave  him  an  entertainment :  he  furnished  him  with 
all  other  things  in  abundance.  And  after  they  had  supped 
he  filled  him  the  cuj)s  that  he  had  received  from  Cyrus, 
drank  to  him,  and  made  him  a  j)resent  of  them.  But  the 
Sacian,  observing  a  great  many  fine  carpets  and  coverlets, 
a  great  deal  of  fine  furniture,  and  abundance  of  domestics, 
"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  Pheraulas,  were  you  one  of  the  rich 
when  you  were  at  home  ?"     "  How  rich  do  you  mean  ?" 


452  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Xenophon 

said  Plieraulus.  "  I  was  one  of  those  that  lived  directly 
by  the  Avork  of  their  own  hands ;  for  my  father,  maintain- 
ing himself  very  poorly  by  his  own  labor,  bred  me  up 
under  the  discij)iine  of  the  boys;  but  when  I  became  a 
youth,  not  being  able  to  maintain  me  idle,  he  took  me  into 
the  country  and  ordered  me  to  work.  Here  did  I  maintain 
him  while  he  lived,  digging  and  planting  with  my  own 
hands  a  little  piece  of  land,  that  was  not  ungi-atefuJ,  but 
the  jus  test  in  the  world,  for  the  seed  that  it  received  it 
retui-ned  me  justly  and  handsomely  again,  with  an  overplus 
that  indeed  was  not  very  abundant,  but  sometimes,  out 
of  its  generosity,  returned  me  double  of  what  it  received. 
Thus,  then,  I  lived  at  home ;  but  now  all  these  things  that 
you  see  Cyrus  has  given  me." 

Then  the  Sacian  said,  "  Oh,  happy  are  you  in  other  things 
as  well  as  in  this,  that,  from  being  poor  before,  you  are 
now  become  rich !  For  I  am  of  opinion  that  you  grow 
rich  with  the  more  pleasure  as  you  come  to  be  possessed 
of  riches  after  having  thirsted  for  them  before."  Phe- 
raulas  then  said,  "  And  do  you  think,  Sacian,  that  I  live 
with  the  more  pleasure  the  more  I  possess  ?  Do  you  not 
know,"  said  he,  "  that  I  neither  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  sleep 
with  one  jot  more  pleasure  now  than  when  I  was  poor? 
But  by  all  this  abundance  thus  much  I  gain :  that  I  am  to 
guard  more,  to  distribute  more  to  others,  and  to  have  the 
trouble  of  taking  care  of  more ;  for  a  great  many  domestics 
now  demand  their  food  of  me,  their  drink,  and  their  clothes ; 
some  are  in  want  of  physicians ;  one  comes  and  brings  me 
sheej)  that  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  wolves,  or  oxen 
killed  by  falling  from  a  precipice,  or  tells  me  of  a  distemper 
got  among  the  cattle :  so  that  I  think,"  said  Pheraulas, 
"  by  possessing  abundance  I  have  now  more  afflictions 
than  I  had  before  by  having  but  little."  "  But,  by  Jove," 
said  the  Sacian,  "  when  all  is  well,  and  you  are  able  to  oast 


Homer]    MEETING  OF   ULYSSES  AND  PENELOPE         45'J 

your  eyes  around  on  numerous  possessions,  you  are  cer- 
tainly much  better  pleased  than  I  am."  Pheraulas  then 
said,  "  Sacian,  it  is  not  so  pleasant  to  possess  riches  as  it 
is  afflicting  to  lose  them ;  and  you  will  find  what  I  say  is 
true;  for  there  are  none  that  possess  riches  that  are 
forced  from  the  enjoyment  of  rest  by  the  pleasure  which 
they  afford ;  but  of  those  that  lose  them,  you  will  see  none 
that  are  able  to  sleep,  because  of  the  concern  it  gives  them." 

[The  narrative  ends  by  Pheraulas  making  over  all  his  possessions  to 
the  Sacian,  on  the  sole  condition  that  ho  shall  be  sparingly  main- 
tained out  of  them.] 

Having  thus  discoursed,  they  settled  these  affairs  and 
put  them  in  practice.  The  one  thought  himself  made  a 
happy  man  by  having  the  command  of  great  riches,  and 
the  other  reckoned  himself  the  most  fortunate  man  in  the 
world  in  having  a  steward  who  afforded  him  leisure  to  do 
what  was  agi-eeable  to  him.  .  .  .  Pheraulas  was  much  de- 
lighted that,  being  freed  fi'om  the  care  of  other  posses- 
sions, he  should  be  at  leisure  to  mind  his  friends.  And  the 
Sacian  was  delighted,  because  he  was  to  have  the  posses- 
sion of  abundance,  and  was  to  spend  abundance.  The 
Sacian  loved  Pheraulas,  because  he  was  always  bringing 
him  something ;  and  Pheraulas  loved  the  Sacian,  because 
he  was  willing  to  take  all ;  and  though  he  charged  himself 
with  the  care  of  still  more  and  more,  j^et  he  gave  him  no 
more  trouble.     Thus  did  these  men  live. 


THE  MEETING  OF  ULYSSES  AND  PENELOPE. 

HOMER. 

[To  the  selection  already  given  from  Homer's  "  Iliad"  we  add  the 
following  from  the  "  Odyssey,"  in  one  of  the  earliest  of  English  trans- 


454  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

lations,  that  of  the  Elizabethan  writer  Chapman,  whose  version,  while 
by  no  means  free  from  faults,  has  a  merit  and  quaintness  of  its  own, 
which  have  retained  for  it  an  established  position  among  the  many  later 
English  versions  of  Homer.  The  Trojan  hero  Ulysses,  after  long  wan- 
dering and  many  adventures  by  sea  and  land,  finally  reaches  his  home 
on  the  island  of  Ithaca.  Here  he  finds  his  castle  invaded  and  his  wife 
besieged  by  a  crowd  of  wooers,  whom  he,  roused  to  wrath  by  their 
insolent  behavior,  attacks  and  slays.  The  nurse  of  Penelope  describes 
to  her  this  terrible  aflray,  and  announces  that  the  champion  is  her  long- 
•ibsent  husband.] 


She  sprang  for  joy  from  blames  into  embraces 
Of  her  grave  nurse,  wiped  every  tear  away 
Prom  her  fair  cheeks,  and  then  began  to  say 
What  nurse  said  over  thus  :  "  O  nurse,  can  this 
Be  true  thou  say'st?     How  could  that  hand  of  his 
Alone  destroy  so  many  ?     They  would  still 
Troop  all  together.     How  could  he  then  kill 
Such  numbers  so  united?"     "How,"  said  she, 
"  I  have  not  seen  nor  hoard  ;  but  certainly 
The  deed  is  done.     \Ye  sat  within  in  fear, 
The  doors  shut  on  us,  and  from  thence  might  hear 
The  sighs  and  groans  of  every  man  he  slew, 
But  heard  nor  saw  more,  till  at  length  there  flew 
Your  son's  voice  to  mine  ear,  that  called  to  me. 
And  bade  me  then  come  forth,  and  then  I  see 
Ulysses  standing  in  the  midst  of  all 
Your  slaughtered  wooers,  heaped  up  like  a  wall, 
One  on  another  round  about  his  side. 
It  would  have  done  you  good  to  have  descried 
Your  conquering  lord  all  smeared  with  blood  and  gore 
So  like  a  lion.     Straight  then  off  they  bore 
The  slaughtered  carcasses,  that  now  before 
The  fore-court  gates  lie,  one  on  another  piled. 
And  now  your  victor  all  the  hall,  defiled 


Homer]    MEETING  OF   ULYSSES  AND  PENELOPE.        455 

With  stench  of  hot  death,  is  perfuming  round, 
And  with  a  mighty  fire  the  hearth  hath  crowned. 

Thus  all  the  death  removed,  and  every  room 
Made  sweet  and  sightly,  that  yourself  should  come 
flis  pleasure  sent  me.     Come,  then,  take  you  now 
Your  mutual  fills  of  comfort.     Grief  on  you 
Hath  long  and  many  sufferings  laid ;  which  length, 
Which  many  sufferings,  now  your  virtuous  strength 
Of  uncorrupted  chasteness  hath  conferred 
A  happy  end  to.     He  that  long  hath  erred* 
Is  safe  arrived  at  home ;  his  wife,  his  son. 
Found  safe  and  good ;  all  ill  that  hath  been  done 
On  all  the  doers'  heads,  though  long  prolonged. 
His  right  hath  wreaked,  and  in  the  place  they  wronged." 

She  answered :  "  Do  not  you  now  laugh  and  boast 
As  you  had  done  some  great  act,  seeing  most 
Into  his  being  ;  for  you  know  he  won — 
Even  through  his  poor  and  vile  condition — 
A  kind  of  prompted  thought  that  there  was  placed 
Some  virtue  in  him  fit  to  be  embraced 
By  all  the  house,  but  most  of  all  by  me, 
And  by  my  son,  that  was  the  progeny 
Of  both  our  loves.     And  yet  it  is  not  he, 
For  all  the  likely  proofs  ye  plead  to  me : 
Some  god  hath  slain  the  wooers  in  disdain 
Of  the  abhorred  pride  he  saw  so  reign 
In  these  base  works  they  did.     No  man  alive, 
Or  good  or  bad,  whoever  did  arrive 
At  their  abodes  once,  ever  could  obtain 
Eegard  of  them ;  and  therefore  their  so  vain 
And  vile  deserts  have  found  as  vile  an  end. 
But  for  Ulysses,  never  will  extend 
His  wished  retui'n  to  Greece,  nor  he  yet  lives," 

*  Wandered. 


456  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

[The  nurse  replies  that  she  knows  it  to  be  Ulysses  by  a  remembered 
scar  which  she  had  seen  on  him.  But  Penelope  still  remains  doubtful, 
and  proposes  to  seek  the  hall.  ] 


This  said,  down  they  went ; 
When,  on  the  queen's  part,  divers  thoughts  were  spent, 
If,  all  this  given  no  faith,  she  still  should  stand 
Aloof,  and  question  more,  or  his  hugged  hand 
And  loved  head  she  should  at  first  assay 
With  free-given  kisses.     When  her  doubtful  way 
Had  passed  the  stony  pavement,  she  took  seat 
Against  her  husband,  in  the  opposite  heat 
The  fii'e  then  cast  upon  the  other  wall. 
Himself  set  by  the  column  of  the  hall, 
His  looks  cast  downward,  and  expected*  still 
When  her  incredulous  and  curious  will 
To  shun  ridiculous  error,  and  the  shame 
To  kiss  a  husband  that  was  not  the  same. 
Would  down,  and  win  enough  faith  from  his  sight. 
She  silent  sat,  and  her  perplexed  plight 
Amaze  encountered.     Sometimes  she  stood  clear 
He  was  her  husband  ;  sometimes  the  ill  wear 
His  person  had  put  on  transformed  him  so 
That  yet  his  stamp  would  hardly  current  go. 

Her  son,  her  strangeness  seeing,  blamed  her  thus : 
"  Mother,  ungentle  mother !     Tyrannous 
Is  this  too  curious  modesty  you  show. 
Why  sit  you  from  my  father,  nor  bestow 
A  word  on  me  t'  inquire  and  clear  such  doubt 
As  may  perplex  you  ?     Found  man  ever  out 
One  other  such  a  wife  that  could  forbear 
Her  loved  lord's  welcome  home,  when  twenty  year 

*  Awaited. 


Homer]    MEETING  OF   ULYSSES  AND  PENELOPE.        457 

In  infinite  suff 'ranee  he  had  spent  apart. 
j^o  flint  so  hard  as  is  a  looman's  heart." 

"  Son,"  said  she,  "  amaze  contains  my  mind, 
Nor  can  I  speak  and  use  the  common  kind 
Of  those  inquiries,  nor  sustain  to  see 
With  opposite  looks  his  countenance.     If  this  be 
My  true  Ulysses  now  returned,  there  are 
Tokens  betwixt  us  of  more  fitness  far 
To  give  me  argument  he  is  my  lord ; 
And  my  assurance  of  him  may  afford 
My  proofs  of  joy  for  him  from  all  those  eyes 
With  more  decorum  than  object  their  guise 
To  public  notice."     The  much  sufferer  broke 
In  laughter  out,  and  to  his  son  said,  "  Take 
Your  mother  from  the  prease,  that  she  may  make 
Her  own  proofs  of  me,  which  perhaps  may  give 
More  cause  to  the  acknowledfi^ments  that  drive 
Their  show  thus  off.     But  now,  because  I  go 
So  poorly  clad,  she  takes  disdain  to  know 
So  loathed  a  creature  for  her  loved  lord." 

[Ulysses  now  advises  his  son  to  take  measures  against  assault  by 
the  friends  of  the  slain  wooers,  and  bids  all  to  bathe,  dress,  and  make 
music  and  merriment  as  for  a  nuptial  occasion.] 

This  all  obeyed ;  bathed,  put  on  fresh  attire, 
Both  men  and  women  did.     Then  took  his  lyre 
The  holy  singer,  and  set  thirst  on  fire 
With  songs  and  faultless  dances ;  all  the  court 
Rang  with  the  footings  that  the  numerous  sport 
From  jocund  men  drew  and  fair-girdled  dames ; 
Which  heard  abroad,  thus  flew  the  common  fames  : 

"  This  sure  the  day  is  when  the  much-wooed  queen 
Is  richly  wed.     O  wretch !  that  hath  not  been 
I.— u  39 


458  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

So  constant  as  to  keep  her  ample  house 

Till  th'  utmost  hour  had  brought  her  foremost  spouse." 

Thus  some  conceived,  but  little  knew  the  thing. 
And  now  Eurymone  had  bathed  the  king, 
Smoothed  him  with  oils,  and  he  himself  attired 
In  vestures  royal.     Her  part  then  inspired 
The  goddess  Pallas,  decked  his  head  and  face 
With  infinite  beauties,  gave  a  goodly  grace 
Of  stature  to  him,  a  much  plumper  plight 
Through  all  his  body  breathed,  curls  soft  and  bright 
Adorned  his  head  withal,  and  made  it  show 
As  if  the  flowery  hyacinth  did  grow 
In  all  his  pride  there,  in  the  general  trim 
Of  every  lock  and  every  curious  limb. 
Look  how  a  skilful  artisan,  well  seen 
In  all  arts  metalline,  as  having  been 
Taught  by  Minerva  and  the  god  of  fire, 
Doth  gold  with  silver  mix  so  that  entire 
They  keep  their  self-distinction,  and  yet  so 
That  to  the  silver  from  the  gold  doth  flow 
A  much  more  artificial  lustre  than  his  own, 
And  thereby  to  the  gold  itself  is  grown 
A  greater  glory  than  if  wrought  alone. 
Both  being  stuck  off  by  cither's  mixtion  ; 
So  did  Minerva  hers  and  his  combine. 
He  more  in  her,  she  more  in  him,  did  shine. 
Like  an  immortal  from  the  bath  he  rose. 
And  to  his  wife  did  all  his  grace  dispose, 
Encount'ring  thus  her  strangeness :  "  Cruel  dame 
Of  all  that  breathe,  the  gods  past  steel  and  flame 
Have  made  thee  ruthless.     Life  retains  not  one 
Of  all  dames  else  that  bears  so  overgrown 
A  mind  with  abstinence,  as  twenty  years 
To  miss  her  husband  drowned  in  woes  and  tears, 


Homer]    MEETING  OF  ULYSSES  AND   PENELOPE.        459 

And  at  his  coining  keep  aloof,  and  fare 
As  of  his  so  lono;  absence  and  his  care 
JSTo  sense  had  seized  her.     Go,  nurse,  make  a  bed, 
That  I  alone  may  sleep ;  her  heart  is  dead 
To  all  reflection !"     To  him  thus  replied 
The  wise  Penelope  :  '■  Man  half  deified, 
'Tis  not  my  fashion  to  be  taken  straight 
"With  bravest  men,  nor  poorest  use  to  sleight. 
Your  mean  appearance  made  me  not  retire, 
Nor  this  your  rich  show  makes  me  now  admire, 
Nor  moves  at  all ;  for  what  is  all  to  me 
If  not  my  husband  ?     All  his  certainty 
I  knew  at  parting;  but,  so  long  apart. 
The  outward  likeness  holds  no  full  desert 
For  me  to  trust  to.     Go,  nurse,  see  addressed 
A  soft  bed  for  him,  and  the  single  rest 
Himself  affects  so.     Let  it  be  the  bed 
That  stands  within  our  bridal  ehamber-sted. 
Which  he  himself  made.     Bring  it  forth  from  thence, 
And  see  it  furnished  with  magnificence." 
This  said  she  to  assay  him,  and  did  stir 
Even  his  established  patience ;  and  to  her 
"Whom  thus  he  answered :  "  "Woman !  your  words  prove 
My  patience  8trangel3^     Who  is  it  can  move 
M}'  bed  out  of  its  place  ?     It  shall  oppress 
Earth's  greatest  undorstander ;  and,  unless 
Even  Clod  himself  should  come,  that  can  easily  grace 
Men  in  their  most  skills,  it  shall  hold  its  place ; 
For  man  he  lives  not  that  (as  not  most  skilled. 
So  not  most  young)  shall  easily  make  it  yield, 
If,  building  on  the  strength  in  which  he  flows, 
He  adds  both  levers  too  and  iron  crows : 
For  in  the  fixture  of  the  bed  is  shown 
A  masterpiece,  a  wonder;  and  'twas  done 


460  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Homer 

By  me,  and  none  but  me,  and  thus  was  wrought ; 
There  was  an  olive-tree  that  had  his  grought* 
Amidst  a  hedge,  and  was  of  shadow  proud,f 
Fresh,  and  the  prime  age  of  his  verdure  showed, 
His  leaves  and  arms  so  thick  that  to  the  eye 
It  showed  a  column  for  solidity. 
To  this  had  I  a  comprehension 
To  build  my  bridal  bower ;  which  all  of  stone, 
Thick  as  the  tree  of  leaves,  I  raised,  and  cast 
A  roof  about  it  nothing  meanly  graced. 
Put  glued  doors  to  it,  that  oped  art  enough. 
Then  from  the  olive  every  broad-leaved  bough 
I  lopped  away,  then  felled  the  tree,  and  then 
Went  over  it  both  with  my  axe  and  plane, 
Both  governed  by  my  line. .   And  then  I  hewed 
My  curious  bedstead  out ;  in  which  I  showed 
Work  of  no  common  hand.     All  this  begun 
I  could  not  leave  till  to  perfection 
My  pains  had  brought  it ;  took  my  wimble,  bored 
The  holes,  as  fitted,  and  did  last  afford 
The  varied  ornament,  that  showed  no  want 
Of  silver,  gold,  and  polished  elephant. 
An  ox-hide  dyed  in  purple  then  I  threw 
Above  the  cords.     And  thus  to  curious  view 
I  hope  I  have  objected  honest  sign 
To  prove  I  author  nought  that  is  not  mine. 
But  if  my  bed  stand  unremoved  or  no, 
O  woman,  passeth  human  wit  to  know." 
This  sunk  her  knees  and  heart,  to  hear  so  true 
The  signs  she  urged ;  and  first  did  tears  ensue 
Her  rapt  assurance ;  then  she  ran  and  spread 
Her  arms  about  his  neck,  kissed  oft  his  head, 

*  Growth.  f  Luxuriant. 


Homer]    MEETING  OF   ULYSSES  AND   PENELOPE.        461 

And  thus  the  curious  stay  she  made  excused: 

"  Ulysses,  be  not  angry  that  I  used 

Such  strange  deUiys  to  this,  since  heretofore 

Your  suffering  wisdom  hath  the  garland  wore 

From  all  that  breathe ;  and  'tis  the  gods  that,  thus 

With  mutual  miss  so  long  afflicting  us. 

Have  caused  my  coyness.  .  .  . 

Yet  now,  since  these  signs  of  our  certain  bed 

You  have  discovered,  and  distinguished 

From  all  earth's  others,  no  one  man  but  you 

Yet  ever  getting  of  it  th'  only  show, 

Nor  one  of  all  dames  but  myself  and  she 

My  father  gave,  old  Actor's  progeny, 

Who  ever  guarded  to  ourselves  the  door 

Of  that  thick-shaded  chamber,  I  no  more 

Will  cross  your  clear  persuasion,  though  till  now 

1  stood  too  doubtful  and  austere  to  you." 

These  words  of  hers,  so  justifying  her  stay, 
Did  more  desire  of  joyful  moan  convey 
To  his  glad  mind  than  if  at  instant  sight 
She  had  allowed  him  all  his  wishes'  right. 
He  wept  for  joy,  t'  enjoy  a  wife  so  fit 
For  his  grave  mind,  that  kncAV  his  depth  of  wit 
And  held  chaste  virtue  at  a  price  so  high. 
And  as  sad  men  at  sea  when  shore  is  nigh. 
Which  long  their  hearts  have  wished,  their  ship  quite  lost 
By  Neptune's  vigor,  and  they  vexed  and  tossed 
'Twixt  winds  and  black  waves,  swimming  for  their  lives, 
A  few  escaped,  and  that  few  that  survives 
All  drenched  in  foam  and  brine,  crawl  up  to  land 
With  joy  as  much  as  they  did  worlds  command. 
So  dear  to  this  wife  was  her  husband's  sight. 
I.  39* 


462  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 


THEMISTOCLES  AT  SALAMIS. 

PLUTARCH. 

[To  the  selection  we  have  already  made  from  Langhornc's  transla- 
tion of  Plutarch's  "  Lives"  we  add  the  following  from  the  life  of 
Themistocles.  In  it  is  detailed  the  most  eminent  action  of  one  of  the 
most  eminent  of  those  great  men  who  gave  to  the  small  state  of  Attica 
the  post  of  honor  and  glory  in  the  ancient  woild.  The  victory  at  Sala- 
mis,  which  is  here  described,  was  one  of  the  great  turning-points  in 
the  history  of  civilization.  Had  the  Persians  conquered,  the  history 
of  Greece  would  have  ended  ere  it  fairly  began.  The  victory  of  the 
Greeks  gave  the  impetus  to  that  remarkable  development  of  Atlienian 
thought  which  we  cannot  but  look  upon  with  as  much  wonder  as 
admiration.] 

The  Modes  now  preparing  to  invade  Greece  again,  the 
Athenians  considered  who  should  be  their  general ;  and 
many  (we  are  told),  thinking  the  commission  dangerous, 
declined  it.  But  Epicydes,  the  son  of  Euphemides,  a  man 
of  more  eloquence  than  courage,  and  capable  withal  of 
being  bribed,  solicited  it,  and  was  likely  to  be  chosen. 
Themistocles,  fearing  the  consequence  would  be  fatal  to 
the  public  if  the  choice  fell  upon  Ej)icydes,  prevailed 
upon  him  by  pecuniary  considerations  to  drop  his  preten- 
sions. 

His  behavior  is  also  commended  with  respect  to  the  in- 
terpreter who  came  with  the  king  of  Persia's  ambassadors 
that  were  sent  to  demand  earth  and  water.  Ey  a  decree 
of  the  people,  he  put  him  to  death  for  presuming  to  make 
use  of  the  Greek  language  to  express  the  demands  of  the 
barbarians.  To  this  we  may  add  his  proceedings  in  the 
affair  of  Arthmius  the  Zelite.  who  at  his  motion  was  de- 
clared infamous,  with   his  children  and  all  his  posterity, 


Plutarcu]         THEMISTOCLES  AT  SAL  AMIS.  463 

for  bringing  Persian  gold  into  G-reece.  But  that  which 
redounded  most  of  all  to  his  honor  was  his  putting  an  end 
to  the  Grecian  wars,  reconciling  the  several  states  to  each 
other,  and  persuading  them  to  lay  aside  their  animosities 
during  the  war  with  Persia.  In  this  he  is  said  to  have 
been  much  assisted  by  Chileus  the  Arcadian. 

As  soon  as  he  had  taken  the  command  upon  him,  he 
endeavored  to  persuade  the  j)eople  to  quit  the  city,  to  em- 
bark on  board  their  ships,  and  to  meet  the  barbarians  at 
as  great  a  distance  from  Greece  as  possible.  But,  many 
opposing  it,  he  marched  at  the  head  of  a  great  army,  to- 
gether with  the  Lacedsemonians,  to  Tempe,  intending  to 
cover  Thessaly,  which  had  not  yet  declared  for  the  Per- 
sians. AVhen  he  returned  without  eifecting  anything,  the 
Thessalians  having  embraced  the  king's  party,  and  all  the 
country,  as  far  as  Bceotia,  following  their  example,  the 
Athenians  were  more  willing  to  hearken  to  his  proposal  to 
fight  the  enemy  at  sea,  and  sent  him  with  a  fleet  to  guard 
the  straits  of  Artemisium. 

When  the  fleets  of  the  several  states  were  joined,  and 
the  majoi'ity  were  of  opinion  that  Eurybiades  should  have 
the  chief  command,  and  with  his  Lacedaemonians  begin 
the  engagement,  the  Athenians,  who  had  a  greater  num- 
ber of  ships  than  all  the  rest  united,  thought  it  an  indig- 
nity to  part  with  the  place  of  honor.  But  Themistocles, 
perceiving  the  danger  of  any  disagreement  at  that  time, 
gave  u])  the  command  to  Eurybiades,  and  satisfied  the 
Athenians,  by  representing  to  them  that  if  they  behaved 
like  men  in  that  war  the  Grecians  would  voluntarily  yield 
them  the  superiority  for  the  future.  To  him,  therefore, 
Greece  seems  to  owe  her  preservation,  and  the  Athenians 
in  particular  the  distinguished  glory  of  surpassing  their 
enemies  in  valor  and  their  allies  in  moderation. 

The  Persian  fleet  coming  up  to  Aphetse,  Eurybiades  was 


464  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

astonished  at  such  an  appearance  of  ships,  particularly 
when  he  was  informed  that  there  were  two  hundred  more 
sailing  round  Sciathus.  He  therefore  was  desirous  with- 
out loss  of  time  to  draw  nearer  to  Greece,  and  to  keep 
close  to  the  Peloponnesian  coast,  where  he  might  have  an 
army  occasionally  to  assist  the  fleet ;  for  he  considered  the 
naval  force  of  the  Persians  as  invincible.  Upon  this,  the 
Euboeans,  apprehensive  that  the  Greeks  would  forsake 
them,  sent  Pelagon  to  negotiate  pi"ivately  with  Themisto- 
cles  and  to  ofter  him  a  large  sum  of  money.  He  took  the 
money  and  gave  it  (as  Herodotus  writes)  to  Eurybiades. 
Finding  himself  most  opposed  in  his  designs  by  Architeles, 
captain  of  the  sacred  galley,  who  had  not  money  to  pay 
his  men,  and  therefore  intended  immediately  to  withdraw, 
he  so  incensed  his  countrymen  against  him  that  they  went 
in  a  tumultuous  manner  on  board  his  ship  and  took  from 
him  what  he  had  pi-ovided  for  his  supper.  Architeles 
being  much  provoked  at  this  insult,  Themistocles  sent  him 
in  a  chest  a  quantity  of  provisions,  and  at  the  bottom  of  it 
a  talent  of  silver,  and  desired  him  to  refresh  himself  that 
evening,  and  to  satisfy  his  crew  in  the  morning,  otherwise 
he  would  accuse  him  to  the  Athenians  of  having  received 
a  bribe  from  the  enemy.  This  particular  is  mentioned  by 
Phanias  the  Lesbian. 

Though  the  several  engagements  with  the  Persian  fleet 
in  the  straits  of  Euboea  were  not  decisive,  yet  they  were 
of  great  advantage  to  the  Greeks,  who  learned  by  expe- 
rience that  neither  the  number  of  ships,  nor  the  beauty 
and  splendor  of  their  ornaments,  nor  the  vaunting  shouts 
and  songs  of  the  barbarians,  have  anything  di'eadful  in 
them  to  men  that  know  how  to  fight  hand  to  hand  and 
are  determined  to  behave  gallantly.  These  things  they 
were  taught  to  despise  when  they  came  to  close  action 
and  grappled  with  the  foe.     In  this  case  Pindar's  senti- 


Plutarch]         THEMISTOCLES  AT  SAL  AMIS.  465 

ments  appear  just,  when  he  says  of  the  fight  at  Arte- 

misium, — 

"  'Twas  then  that  Athens  the  foundation  laid 
Of  Liberty's  fair  structure." 

Indeed,  intrepid  courage  is  the  commencement  of  victory. 
Artemisium  is  a  maritime  place  of  Euboea,  to  the  nortli 
of  Hestisea.  Over  against  it  lies  Olizon,  in  the  territory 
that  formerly  was  subject  to  Philocletes ;  Vv  here  there  is 
a  small  temple  of  Diana  of  the  East,  in  the  midst  of  a 
grove.  The  temple  is  encircled  with  pillars  of  white  stone, 
which  when  rubbed  with  the  hand  has  both  the  color  and 
smell  of  saffron.  On  one  of  the  pillars  are  inscribed  the 
following  verses : 

"  When  on  these  seas  the  sons  of  Athens  conquered 
The  various  powers  of  Asia,  grateful  here 
They  reared  this  temple  to  Diana." 

There  is  a  place  still  to  be  seen  upon  this  shore  where 
there  is  a  large  heap  of  sand,  which  if  dug  into  shows 
towards  the  bottom  a  black  dust  like  ashes,  as  if  some  fire 
had  been  there ;  and  this  is  supposed  to  have  been  that  in 
which  the  wrecks  of  the  ships  and  the  bodies  of  the  dead 
were  burned. 

The  news  of  what  had  happened  at  Thermopylce  being 
brought  to  Artemisium,  when  the  confederates  were  in- 
formed that  Leonidas  was  slain  there,  and  Xerxes  master 
of  the  passages  by  land,  they  sailed  back  to  Grreece ;  and 
the  Athenians,  elated  with  their  late  distinguished  valor, 
brought  up  the  rear.  As  Themistocles  sailed  along  the 
coasts,  wherever  he  saw  any  harbors  or  places  appointed 
for  the  enemy's  ships  to  put  in  at,  he  took  such  stones  as 
he  happened  to  find,  or  caused  to  be  brought  thither  for 
that  purjiose,  and  set  them  in  the  ports  and  watering-places, 
I. — ee 


466  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

and  had  the  following  inscription  engraved  in  large  char- 
acters and  addressed  to  the  lonians :  "  Let  the  lonians, 
if  it  be  possible,  come  over  to  the  Greeks,  from  whom 
they  are  descended,  and  who  now  risk  their  lives  for  their 
liberty.  If  this  be  impracticable,  let  them  at  least  perplex 
the  barbarians,  and  put  them  in  disorder  in  time  of  ac- 
tion." By  this  he  hoped  either  to  bring  the  lonians  over 
to  his  side,  or  to  sow  discord  among  them  by  causing  them 
to  be  suspected  by  the  Persians. 

Though  Xerxes  had  passed  through  Doris  down  to  Pho- 
cis,  and  was  burning  and  destroying  the  Phocian  cities, 
yet  the  Greeks  sent  them  no  succors.  And  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  entreaties  the  Athenians  could  use  to  prevail 
with  the  confederates  to  repair  with  them  into  Boeotia 
and  cover  the  frontiers  of  Attica,  as  they  had  sent  a  fleet 
to  Artemisium  to  serve  the  common  cause,  no  one  gave  ear 
to  their  request.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  Peloponnesus, 
and  all  were  determined  to  collect  their  forces  within  the 
Isthmus,  and  to  build  a  wall  across  it  from  sea  to  sea.  The 
Athenians  were  greatly  incensed  to  see  themselves  thus 
betrayed,  and  at  the  same  time  dejected  and  discouraged 
at  80  general  a  defection.  They  alone  could  not  think  of 
giving  battle  to  so  pi-odigious  an  army.  To  quit  the  city, 
and  embark  on  board  their  ships,  was  the  only  expedient 
at  present ;  and  this  the  generality  were  very  unwilling 
to  hearken  to,  as  they  could  neither  have  any  great  am- 
bition for  victory,  nor  idea  of  safety,  when  they  had  left 
the  temples  of  their  gods  and  the  monuments  of  their 
ancestors. 

Themistocles,  perceiving  that  he  could  not  by  the  force 
of  human  reason  prevail  with  the  multitude,  set  his  ma- 
chinery to  work,  as  a  poet  would  do  in  a  tragedy,  and  had 
recoui'se  to  prodigies  and  oracles.  The  prodigy  he  availed 
himself  of  was  the  disappearing  of  the  dragon  of  Minerva, 


Plutarch]         THEMISTOCLES  AT  SALAMIS.  467 

which  at  that  time  quitted  the  holy  place  ;  and  the  priests, 
finding  the  daily  offerings  set  before  it  untouched,  gave  it 
out  among  the  people,  at  the  suggestion  of  Themistocles, 
that  the  goddess  had  forsaken  the  city,  and  that  she  offered 
to  conduct  them  to  sea.  Moreover,  by  way  of  explaining 
to  the  people  an  oracle  then  received,  he  told  them  that 
by  wooden  walls  there  could  not  possibly  be  anything 
meant  but  ships,  and  that  Apollo  now  calling  Salamis 
divine,  not  wretched  and  unfortunate,  as  formerly,  signified 
by  such  an  ejjithet  that  it  would  be  productive  of  some 
great  advantage  to  Greece.  His  counsels  prevailed,  and 
he  proposed  a  decree  that  the  city  should  be  left  to  the 
protection  of  Minerva,  the  tutelary  goddess  of  the  Athe- 
nians, that  the  young  men  should  go  on  board  the  ships, 
and  that  every  one  should  provide  as  well  as  he  possibly 
could  for  the  safety  of  the  children,  the  women,  and  the 
slaves. 

When  this  decree  was  made,  most  of  the  Athenians 
removed  their  parents  and  wives  to  Troezene,  where  they 
were  received  with  a  generous  hospitality.  The  Troeze- 
nians  came  to  a  resolution  to  maintain  them  at  the  public 
expense,  for  which  purpose  they  allowed  each  of  them  two 
oboli  a  day ;  they  permitted  the  children  to  gather  fruit 
wherever  they  pleased,  and  provided  for  their  education  by 
paying  their  tutors.    This  order  was  procured  by  Nicagoras. 

As  the  treasmy  of  Athens  was  then  but  low,  Aristotle 
informs  us  that  the  court  of  Areopagus  distributed  to  every 
man  who  took  part  in  the  expedition  eight  drachmas; 
which  was  the  principal  means  of  manning  the  fleet.  But 
Clidemus  ascribes  this  also  to  a  stratagem  of  Themistocles; 
for  he  tells  us  that  when  the  Athenians  went  down  to  the 
harbor  of  Pii'seus  the  ^gis  was  lost  from  the  statue  of 
Minerva ;  and  Themistocles,  as  he  ransacked  everything 
under  pretence  of  searching  for  it,  found  large  sums  of 


468  BEST  FOREIGN   AUTHORS.  [Plutakch 

money  hidden  among  the  baggage,  which  he  applied  to  the 
public  use ;  and  out  of  it  all  necessaries  were  provided  for 
the  fleet. 

The  embarkation  of  the  people  of  Athens  was  a  very 
aifecting  scene.  What  jjity !  what  admiration  of  the  firm- 
ness of  those  men  who,  sending  their  parents  and  families 
to  a  distant  place,  unmoved  with  their  cries,  their  tears,  or 
embraces,  had  the  fortitude  to  leave  the  city  and  embark 
for  Salamis!  What  greatly  heightened  the  distress  was 
the  number  of  citizens  whom  they  were  forced  to  leave 
behind  because  of  their  extreme  old  age.  And  some  emo- 
tions of  tenderness  were  due  even  to  the  tame  domestic 
animals,  which,  running  to  the  shore  with  lamentable 
howling>>,  expressed  their  affection  and  regret  for  the 
persons  that  had  fed  them.  One  of  these,  a  dog  that 
belonged  to  Xanthippus,  the  father  of  Pericles,  unwilling 
to  be  left  behind,  is  said  to  have  leaped  into  the  sea,  and 
to  have  swum  by  the  side  of  the  ship  till  it  reached  Salamis, 
where,  quite  spent  with  toil,  it  died  immediately.  And 
they  show  us  to  this  day  a  place  called  Synos  Sema,  where 
they  tell  us  that  dog  was  buried. 

To  these  great  actions  of  Themistocles  may  be  added 
the  following : 

He  perceived  that  Aristides  was  much  i^gretted  by  the 
people,  who  -were  apprehensive  that  out  of  revenge  he 
might  join  the  Persians,  and  do  great  prejudice  to  the 
cause  of  Greece ;  he  therefore  caused  a  decree  to  be  made 
that  all  who  had  been  banished  only  for  a  time  should 
have  leave  to  return,  and  by  their  counsel  and  valor  assist 
their  fellow-citizens  in  the  preservation  of  their  country. 

Eurybiades,  by  reason  of  the  dignity  of  Sparta,  had  the 
command  of  the  fleet ;  but,  as  he  was  apprehensive  of  the 
danger,  he  proj)Osed  to  set  sail  for  the  Isthmus  and  fix  his 
station  near  the  Peloponnesian  army.     Themistocles,  how- 


Plutarch]         THEMISTOCLES  AT  SALAMIS.  469 

ever,  opjDosed  it ;  and  the  account  we  have  of  the  con- 
ference on  that  occasion  deserves  to  be  mentioned.  Wlien 
Eurybiades  said,  "  Do  not  you  know,  Themistocles,  that  in 
the  iDublic  games  such  as  rise  uj)  before  their  turn  are 
chastised  for  it?"  "Yes,"  answered  Themistocles;  "yet 
such  as  are  left  behind  never  gain  the  crown."  Eurybiades, 
upon  this,  lifting  up  his  staff  as  if  he  intended  to  strike 
him,  Themistocles  said,  "Strike,  if  you  please,  but  hear 
me :"  the  Lacedasmonians,  admiring  his  command  of  temper, 
bade  him  speak  what  he  had  to  say ;  and  Themistocles  was 
leading  him  back  to  the  subject,  when  one  of  the  officers 
thus  interrupted  him :  "  It  ill  becomes  you,  who  have  no 
city,  to  advise  us  to  quit  our  habitations  and  abandon  our 
country."  Themistocles  retorted  upon  him  thus :  "  Wretch 
that  thou  art,  we  have  indeed  left  our  walls  and  houses, 
not  choosing,  for  the  sake  of  those  inanimate  things,  to 
become  slaves ;  yet  we  have  still  the  most  respectable  city 
of  Greece,  in  these  two  hundred  shijjs,  which  are  here 
ready  to  defend  you,  if  you  will  give  them  leave.  But  if 
you  forsake  and  betray  us  a  second  time,  Greece  shall  soon 
find  the  Athenians  possessed  of  as  free  a  city  and  as  valu- 
able a  country  as  that  they  have  quitted."  These  words 
struck  Eurjdiiades  with  the  apprehension  that  the  Athe- 
nians might  fall  off  from  him.  We  are  told  also  that  as  a 
certain  Eretrian  was  attempting  to  speak,  Themistocles 
said,  "  What !  have  you,  too,  something  to  say  about  war, 
who  are  like  the  fish  that  has  a  sword,  but  no  heart  ?" 

While  Themistocles  was  thus  maintaining  his  arguments 
upon  deck,  some  tell  us  that  an  owl  was  seen  fljdng  to 
the  right  of  the  fleet,  which  came  and  perched  ujion  the 
shrouds.  This  omen  determined  the  confederates  to  accede 
to  his  opinion,  and  to  prepare  for  a  sea-fight ;  but  no  sooner 
did  the  enemy's  fleet  appear  advancing  towards  the  harbor 
of  Pbalerus  in  Attica,  and  covering  all  the  neighboring 
I.  40 


470  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

coasts,  while  Xerxes  himself  was  seen  marching  his  hind- 
forces  to  the  shore,  than  the  Greeks,  struck  with  the  sight 
of  such  prodigious  armaments,  began  to  forget  the  counsels 
of  Themistocles,  and  the  Peloponnesians  once  more  looked 
towards  the  Isthmus.  Nay,  they  resolved  to  set  sail  that 
very  night,  and  such  orders  were  given  to  all  the  pilots. 
Themistocles,  greatly  concerned  that  the  Greeks  were 
going  to  give  up  the  advantage  of  their  station  in  the 
straits,  and  to  retire  to  their  respective  countries,  contrived 
that  stratagem  which  was  put  in  execution  by  Sicinus. 
This  Sicinus  was  of  Persian  extraction,  and  a  captive,  but 
much  attached  to  Themistocles,  and  the  tutor  of  his  chil- 
dren. On  this  occasion  Themistocles  sent  him  privately 
to  the  king  of  Persia,  with  orders  to  tell  him  that  the  com- 
mander of  the  Athenians,  having  espoused  his  interest, 
was  the  first  to  inform  him  of  the  intended  flight  of  the 
Greeks ;  and  that  he  exhorted  him  not  to  suffer  them  to 
escape,  but  while  they  were  in  this  confusion,  and  at  a 
distance  from  their  land-forces,  to  attack  and  destroy  their 
whole  army. 

Xerxes  took  this  information  kindly,  supposing  it  to 
proceed  from  friendship,  and  immediately  gave  orders  to 
his  officers,  with  two  hundred  shij)s,  to  surround  all  the 
passages,  and  to  enclose  the  islands,  that  none  of  the 
Greeks  might  escape,  and  then  to  follow  with  the  rest  of 
the  ships  at  their  leisure.  Aristides,  the  son  of  Lysima- 
chus,  was  the  first  that  perceived  this  motion  of  the  enemy ; 
and  though  he  was  not  in  friendship  with  Themistocles, 
but  had  been  banished  by  his  means  (as  has  been  related), 
he  went  to  him,  and  told  him  they  were  surrounded  by  the 
enemy.  Themistocles,  knowing  his  probity,  and  charmed 
with  his  coming  to  give  this  intelligence,  acquainted  him 
with  the  affair  of  Sicinus,  and  entreated  him  to  lend  his 
assistance  to  keep  the  Greeks  in  their  station,  and,  as  they 


Plutarch]         THEMISTOCLES  AT  SALAMIS.  471 

had  a  confidence  in  his  honor,  to  persuade  them  to  come  to 
an  engagement  in  the  straits.  Aristides  approved  the  pro- 
ceedings of  Themistocles,  and,  going  to  the  other  admirals 
and  captains,  encouraged  them  to  engage.  While  they 
hardly  gave  credit  to  his  report,  a  Tenian  galley,  com- 
manded by  Parsetius,  came  over  from  the  enemy  to  bring 
the  same  account ;  so  that  indignation,  added  to  necessity, 
excited  the  (xreeks  to  their  combat. 

As  soon  as  it  was  day,  Xerxes  sat  down  on  an  eminence 
to  view  the  fleet  and  its  order  of  battle.  He  placed  him- 
self, as  Phanodemus  wi'ites,  above  the  temple  of  Hercules, 
where  the  isle  of  Salamis  is  separated  from  Attica  by  a  nar- 
row frith ;  but,  according  to  Acestodorus,  on  the  confines 
of  Megara,  upon  a  spot  called  Kerata,  "  the  Horns."  He 
was  seated  on  a  throne  of  gold,  and  had  many  secretaries 
about  him,  whose  business  it  was  to  write  down  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  action. 

In  the  mean  time,  as  Themistocles  was  sacrificing  on  the 
deck  of  the  admiral-galley,  three  captives  were  brought  to 
him  of  uncommon  beauty,  elegantly  attired,  and  set  oif 
with  golden  ornaments.  They  were  said  to  be  the  sons  of 
Autarctus  and  Sandace,  sister  to  Xerxes.  Euphi-antide, 
the  soothsayer,  casting  his  eyes  upon  them,  and  at  the 
same  time  observing  that  a  bright  flame  blazed  out  from 
the  victims,  while  a  sneezing  was  heard  from  the  right, 
took  Themistocles  by  the  hand,  and  ordered  that  the  three 
youths  should  be  consecrated  and  sacrificed  to  Bacchus 
Omestes ;  for  by  this  means  the  Greeks  might  be  assured 
not  only  of  safety,  but  victory. 

Themistocles  was  astonished  at  the  strangeness  and  cru- 
elty of  the  order;  but  the  multitude,  who  in  great  and 
pressing  difficulties  trust  rather  to  absurd  than  rational 
methods,  invoked  the  god  with  one  voice,  and,  leading  the 
captives  to  the  altar,  insisted  upon  their  being  off'ered  up. 


472  BEST  FOREIGN  A  UTHORS.  [Plutakcu 

as  the  soothsayer  had  directed.  This  particular  we  have 
from  Phanias  the  Lesbian,  a  man  not  unversed  in  letters 
and  philosophy. 

As  to  the  number  of  the  Persian  ships,  the  poet  ^Eschy- 
lus  speaks  of  it,  in  his  tragedy  entitled  "  Pei'sse,"  as  a 
matter  he  was  well  assured  of: 

"  A  thousand  ships  (for  well  I  know  the  number) 
The  Persian  fl:xg  obeyed :  two  hundred  more 
And  seven,  o'erspread  tlie  seas." 

The  Athenians  had  only  one  hundi-ed  and  eighty  galleys : 
each  carried  eighteen  men  that  fought  upon  deck,  four  of 
whom  were  archers,  and  the  rest  heavy-armed. 

If  Themistocles  was  happy  in  choosing  a  place  for  ac- 
tion, he  was  no  less  so  in  taking  advantage  of  a  jsroj^er 
time  for  it ;  for  he  would  not  engage  the  enemy  till  that 
time  of  day  when  a  brisk  wind  usually  arises  from  the  sea, 
which  occasions  a  high  surf  in  the  channel.  This  was  no 
inconvenience  to  the  Grecian  vessels,  which  are  low  built 
and  well  compacted,  but  a  very  great  one  to  the  Persian 
ships,  which  had  high  sterns  and  lofty  decks,  and  were 
heavy  and  unwieldy,  for  it  caused  them  to  veer  in  such  a 
manner  that  their  sides  were  exposed  to  the  Grreeks,  who 
attacked  them  furiously.  During  the  whole  dispute,  great 
attention  was  given  to  the  motions  of  Themistocles,  as  it 
was  believed  he  knew  best  how  to  proceed.  Ariamenes, 
the  Persian  admiral,  a  man  of  distinguished  honor,  and  by 
far  the  bravest  of  the  king's  brothers,  directed  his  manoeu- 
vres chiefly  against  him.  His  ship  was  very  tall,  and  from 
thence  he  threw  darts  and  shot  forth  arrows  as  from  the 
walls  of  a  castle.  But  Aminias  the  Decelean,  and  Sosi- 
cles  the  Pedian,  who  sailed  in  one  bottom,  bore  down  upon 
him  with  their  prow,  and  both  ships  meeting,  they  were 
fastened  together  by  means  of  their  brazen  beaks  ;  when 


Plutarch]         THEMISTOCLES  AT  SALAMIS.  473 

Ariamenes  boarding  their  galley,  they  received  him  with 
their  pikes,  and  pushed  him  into  the  sea.  Artemisia 
knew  the  body  amongst  others  that  were  floating  with  the 
wreck,  and  carried  it  to  Xerxes. 

While  the  fight  was  thus  raging,  we  are  told,  a  great 
light  appeared  as  from  Eleusis ;  and  loud  sounds  and 
voices  were  heard  through  all  the  plain  of  Thriasia  to  the 
sea,  as  of  a  great  number  of  people  carrying  the  mystic 
symbols  of  Bacchus  in  procession.  A  cloud,  too,  seemed 
to  rise  from  among  the  crowd  that  made  this  noise,  and  to 
ascend  by  degrees,  till  it  fell  upon  the  galleys.  Other 
phantoms  also,  and  apparitions  of  armed  men,  they 
thought  they  saw,  stretching  out  their  hands  from  iEgina 
before  the  Grecian  fleet.  These  they  conjectured  to  be  the 
-^acidse,  to  whom,  before  the  battle,  they  had  addressed 
their  prayers  for  succor. 

The  first  man  that  took  a  ship  was  an  Athenian  named 
Lycomedes,  captain  of  a  galley,  who  cut  down  the  ensigns 
from  the  enemy's  ship  and  consecrated  them  to  the  lau- 
relled Apollo.  As  the  Persians  could  come  up  in  the  straits 
but  a  few  at  a  time,  and  often  put  each  other  in  confusion, 
the  Greeks,  equalling  them  in  the  line,  fought  them  till  the 
evening,  when  they  bi'oke  them  entirely,  and  gained  that 
signal  and  complete  victory,  than  which  (as  Simonides 
says)  no  other  naval  achievement,  either  of  the  Greeks  or 
barbarians,  ever  was  more  orlorious.  This  success  was 
owing  to  the  valor,  indeed,  of  all  the  confederates,  but 
chiefly  to  the  sagacity  and  conduct  of  Themistocles. 

After  the  battle,  Xerxes,  full  of  indignation  at  his  disap- 
pointment, attempted  to  join  Salamis  to  the  continent  by 
a  mole  so  well  secured  that  his  land-forces  might  pass 
over  it  into  the  island,  and  that  he  might  shut  up  the 
pass  entirely  against  the  Greeks.  At  the  same  time,  The- 
mistocles, to  sound  Aristides,  pretended  it  was  his  own 
I.  40* 


474  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Plutarch 

opinion  that  tliey  should  sail  to  the  Hellespont  and  break 
down  the  bridge  of  ships;  "for  so,"  says  he,  "we  may 
take  Asia  without  stirring  out  of  Europe."  Ai'istides  did 
not  in  the  least  relish  his  proposal,  but  answered  him  to 
this  purpose :  "  Till  now  we  have  had  to  do  with  an  enemy 
immersed  in  luxury ;  but  if  we  shut  him  up  in  Greece, 
and  drive  him  to  necessity,  he  who  is  master  of  such  pro- 
digious forces  will  no  longer  sit  under  a  golden  canopy 
and  be  a  quiet  spectator  of  the  proceedings  of  the  war, 
but  awaked  by  danger,  attempting  everything,  and  present 
everywhere,  he  will  correct  his  past  errors,  and  follow 
counsels  better  calculated  for  success.  Instead,  therefore, 
of  breaking  that  bridge,  we  should,  if  possible,  provide 
another,  that  he  may  retire  the  sooner  out  of  Europe." 
"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Themistocles,  "  we  must  all  con- 
sider and  contrive  how  to  put  him  upon  the  most  speedy 
retreat  out  of  Greece." 

This  being  resolved  upon,  he  sent  one  of  the  king's 
eunuchs,  whom  he  found  among  the  prisoners,  Arnaces  by 
name,  to  acquaint  him  "  that  the  Greeks,  since  their  vic- 
tory at  sea,  were  determined  to  .sail  to  the  Hellespont  and 
destroy  the  bridge ;  but  that  Themistocles,  in  care  for  the 
king's  safety,  advised  him  to  hasten  towards  his  own  seas, 
and  pass  over  into  Asia,  while  his  friend  endeavored  to 
find  out  pi'etences  of  delay,  to  prevent  the  confederates 
from  pursuing  him."  Xerxes,  terrified  at  the  news,  re- 
tired with  the  greatest  precipitation.  How  prudent  the 
management  of  Themistocles  and  Aristides  was,  Mardo- 
nius  aff'orded  a  proof,  when,  with  a  small  part  of  the 
king's  forces,  he  put  the  Greeks  in  extreme  danger  of 
losing  all,  in  the  battle  of  Plata3a. 

Herodotus  tells  us  that,  among  the  cities,  ^Egina  bore 
away  the  palm ;  but,  among  the  commanders,  Themisto- 
cles, in  spite  of  envy,  was  universally  allowed  to  have 


Cicero]  THE   CRUELTY  OF   VERRES.  475 

distinguished  himself  most.  For,  when  they  came  to  the 
Isthmus,  and  eveiy  officer  took  a  billet  from  the  altar,  to 
inscribe  upon  it  the  names  of  those  that  had  done  the  best 
service,  every  one  put  himself  in  the  first  place,  and  The- 
mistocles  in  the  second.  The  Lacedaemonians,  having  con- 
ducted him  to  Sparta,  adjudged  Eurybiades  the  prize  of 
valor,  and  Themistocles  that  of  wisdom,  honoring  each 
with  a  crown  of  olive.  They  likewise  presented  the  latter 
with  the  handsomest  chariot  in  the  city,  and  ordered  three 
hundred  of  their  youth  to  attend  him  to  the  borders.  At 
the  next  Olympic  games,  too,  we  are  told  that,  as  soon  as 
Themistocles  ap)peared  in  the  ring,  the  champions  were 
overlooked  by  the  spectators,  who  kept  their  eyes  upon 
him  all  the  day,  and  pointed  him  out  to  strangers  with 
the  utmost  admiration  and  applause.  This  incense  was 
extremely  grateful  to  him  ;  and  he  acknowledged  to  his 
friends  that  he  then  reaped  the  fruit  of  his  labors  for 
Greece. 


FROM  THE  "ORATIONS  AGAINST  VERRES." 

CICERO. 

[To  the  selections  already  made  from  the  celebrated  orators  of  Greece, 
it  is  important  to  add  an  example  from  the  greatest  of  Koman  orators, 
Marcus  Tulliiis  Cicero,  whose  orations  have  been  a  school  for  states- 
men and  public  speakers  from  that  day  to  this.  Among  the  most 
earnest  and  effective  of  these  great  efforts  are  those  against  Verres, 
who,  while  governor  of  Sicily,  had  acted  with  the  utmost  rapacity  and 
cruelty,  and  whom  Cicero  assailed  with  such  vigor  and  severity  as  to 
force  him  to  flee  in  terror  from  the  city  at  the  conclusion  of  the  first 
oration,  without  waiting  for  the  othei's.  Our  extract  is  from  the  sixth 
oration,  which  was  devoted  to  exposing  the  cruelty  of  Verres,  and  par- 
ticularly tho/-  directed  against  Roman  citizens.     After  giving  several 


476  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cicero 

instances  of  the  latter,  Cicero  concludes  with  an  indignant  statement 
of  the  most  flagrant  case  of  all.  We  give  it  in  Yonge's  literal  trans- 
lation.] 

For  why  should  I  speak  of  Publius  Gavins,  a  citizen  of 
the  municipality  of  Cosa,  O  judges?  oi'  Avith  what  vigor 
of  language,  with  what  gravity  of  expression,  with  Avhat 
grief  of  mind  shall  I  mention  him  ?  But,  indeed,  that  in- 
diijnation  fails  me.  I  must  take  more  care  than  usual  that 
what  I  am  going  to  say  be  worthy  of  my  subject, — worthy 
of  the  indignation  which  I  feel.  For  the  charge  is  of  such 
a  nature  that  when  I  was  first  informed  of  it  I  thought  I 
should  not  avail  myself  of  it.  For  although  I  knew  that 
it  was  entii-ely  true,  still  I  thought  that  it  would  not  ap- 
pear credible.  Being  compelled  by  the  tears  of  all  the 
Eoman  citizens  who  are  living  as  traders  in  Sicily,  being 
influenced  by  the  testimony  of  the  men  of  Valentia,  most 
honorable  men,  and  by  those  of  all  the  Ehegians,  and  of 
many  Roman  knights  who  happened  at  that  time  to  be 
at  Messana,  I  produced  at  the  j^revious  pleading  only  just 
that  amount  of  evidence  which  might  prevent  the  matter 
from  appearing  doubtful  to  any  one.  What  shall  I  do 
now?  When  I  have  been  speaking  for  so  many  hours  of 
one  class  of  offences,  and  of  that  man's  nefarious  cruelty, 
— when  I  have  now  expended  nearly  all  my  treasures  of 
words  of  such  a  sort  as  are  worthy  of  that  man's  wicked- 
ness on  other  matters,  and  have  omitted  to  take  precau- 
tions to  keep  your  attention  on  the  stretch  by  diversifying 
my  accusations,  how  am  I  to  deal  with  an  affair  of  the 
importance  that  this  is?  There  is,  I  think,  but  one 
method,  but  one  line  open  to  me.  I  will  place  the  matter 
plainly  before  you,  which  is  of  itself  of  such  importance 
that  there  is  no  need  of  my  eloquence ;  and  eloquence, 
indeed,  I  have  none,  but  there  is  no  need  of  any  one's 
eloquence  to  excite  your  feelings.     This  Gavins  whom  I 


CiCKF.o]  THE   CRUELTY  OF    VERRES.  4^^ 

am  S23eaking  of,  a  citizen  of  Cosa,  when  he  (among  that 
vast  number  of  Eoman  citizens -who  had  been  treated  in 
the  same  way)  had  been  thrown  by  Verres  into  prison, 
and  somehow  or  other  had  escaped  secretly  out  of  the 
stone-quarries,  and  had  come  to  Messana,  being  now  al- 
most within  sight  of  Italy  and  of  the  walls  of  Ehegium, 
and  being  revived,  after  that  fear  of  death  and  that  dark- 
ness, by  the  light,  as  it  were,  of  liberty  and  of  the  fra- 
grance of  the  law.  began  to  talk  at  Messana,  and  to  com- 
plain that  he,  a  Eoman  citizen,  had  been  thrown  into 
prison.  He  said  that  he  was  now  going  straight  to  Eome, 
and  that  he  would  meet  Yerres  on  his  arrival  there. 

The  miserable  man  was  not  aware  that  it  made  no  dif- 
ference whether  he  said  this  at  Messana,  or  before  the 
man's  face  in  his  own  pretorian  palace.  For,  as  I  have 
shown  you  before,  the  man  had  selected  this  city  as  the 
assistant  in  his  crimes,  the  receiver  of  his  thefts,  the  part- 
ner in  all  his  wickedness.  Accordingly,  Gavius  is  at  once 
brought  before  the  Mamertine  magistrates ;  and,  as  it  hap- 
pened, Yerres  came  on  that  very  day  to  Messana.  The 
matter  is  brought  before  him.  He  is  told  that  the  man 
was  a  Eoman  citizen,  who  was  complaining  that  at  Syra- 
cuse he  had  been  confined  in  the  stone-quarries,  and  who, 
when  he  was  actually  embarking  on  board  ship,  and  utter- 
ing violent  threats  against  Yerres,  had  been  brought  back 
by  them,  and  reserved  in  order  that  he  himself  might  de- 
cide what  should  be  done  with  him.  He  thanks  the  men, 
and  praises  their  good-will  and  diligence  in  his  behalf. 
He  himself,  inflamed  with  wickedness  and  frenzy,  comes 
into  the  forum.  His  eyes  glai-ed;  cruelty  was  visible  in 
his  whole  countenance.  All  men  waited  to  see  what  steps 
he  was  going  to  take, — what  he  was  going  to  do ;  when 
all  of  a  sudden  he  orders  the  man  to  be  seized,  and  to  be 
stripped  and  bound  in  the  middle  of  the  forum,  and  the 


478  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cicero 

rods  to  be  got  ready.  The  miserable  man  cried  out  that 
he  "was  a  Eoman  citizen,  a  citizen,  also,  of  the  municipal 
town  of  Cosa, — that  he  had  served  with  Lucius  Pretius,  a 
most  illustrious  Eoman  knight,  who  was  living  as  a  trader 
at  Panormus,  and  from  whom  Verres  might  know  that 
he  was  speaking  the  truth.  Then  Verres  says  that  he  has 
ascertained  that  he  had  been  sent  into  Sicily  by  the  lead- 
ers of  the  runaway  slaves,  in  order  to  act  as  a  spy;  a 
matter  as  to  which  there  was  no  witness,  no  trace,  nor 
even  the  slightest  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  any  one.  Then 
he  orders  the  man  to  be  most  violently  scourged  on  all 
sides.  In  the  middle  of  the  forum  of  Messana  a  Eoman 
citizen,  O  judges,  was  beaten  with  rods ;  while  in  the 
inean  time  no  groan  was  heard,  no  other  expression  was 
heard  from  that  wretched  man,  amid  all  his  pain,  and  be- 
tween the  sound  of  the  blows,  except  these  words,  "  I  am 
a  citizen  of  Eome."  He  fancied  that  by  this  one  state- 
ment of  his  citizenship  he  could  ward  off  all  blows,  and 
remove  all  torture  from  his  person.  He  not  only  did  not 
succeed  in  averting  by  his  entreaties  the  violence  of  the 
rods,  but  as  he  kept  on  repeating  his  entreaties  and  the 
assertion  of  his  citizenship,  a  cross — a  cross,  1  say — was 
got  ready  for  that  miserable  man,  who  had  never  witnessed 
such  a  stretch  of  power. 

O  the  sweet  name  of  liberty !  O  the  admirable  privi- 
leges of  our  citizenship !  0  Poreian  law !  O  Sempronian 
laws !  O  power  of  the  tribunes,  bitterly  regretted  by,  and 
at  last  restored  to,  the  Eoman  people !  Have  all  our  rights 
fallen  so  far,  that  in  a  province  of  the  Eoman  people,  in 
a  town  of  our  confederate  allies,  a  Eoman  citizen  should 
be  bound  in  the  forum  and  beaten  with  rods  by  a  man 
who  only  had  the  fasces  and  the  axes  through  the  kind- 
ness of  the  Eoman  joeople?  "What  shall  I  say?  When 
fire,  and  red-hot  plates,  and  other  instruments  of  torture 


Cicero]  THE   CRUELTY  OF  VERRES.  479 

were  employed?  If  the  bitter  entreaties  and  the  miser- 
able cries  of  that  man  had  no  power  to  resti-ain  you,  were 
you  not  moved  even  by  the  weeping  and  loud  gi-oans  of 
the  Eoman  citizens  who  were  present  at  that  time  ?  Did 
you  dare  to  di'ag  any  one  to  the  cross  who  said  he  was  a 
Eoman  citizen  ?  .  .  . 

He  said  he  was  a  Eoman  citizen.  If  you,  0  Verres, 
being  taken  among  the  Persians  or  in  the  remotest  parts 
of  India,  were  being  led  to  execution,  what  else  would 
you  cry  out  but  that  you  were  a  Eoman  citizen?  And 
if  that  name  of  your  city,  honored  and  renowned  as  it  is 
among  all  men,  would  have  availed  you,  a  stranger  among 
strangers,  among  barbarians,  among  men  placed  in  the 
most  remote  and  distant  corners  of  the  earth,  ought  not 
he,  whoever  he  was,  whom  you  were  hurrying  to  the 
cross,  who  was  a  stranger  to  you,  to  have  been  able,  when 
he  said  that  he  was  a  Eoman  citizen,  to  obtain  from  you, 
the  prietor,  if  not  an  escape,  at  least  a  respite  from  death 
by  his  mention  of  and  claims  to  citizenship  ?  .  .  . 

But  why  need  I  say  more  about  Gavius  ?  as  if  you  were 
hostile  to  Gavius,  and  not  rather  an  enemy  to  the  name 
and  class  of  citizens,  and  to  all  their  rights.  You  were 
not,  I  say,  an  enemy  to  the  individual,  but  to  the  common 
cause  of  liberty.  For  what  was  your  object  in  ordering  the 
Mamertines,  when,  according  to  their  regular  custom  and 
usage,  they  had  erected  the  cross  behind  the  city  in  the 
Pompeian  road,  to  place  it  where  it  looked  towards  the 
strait;  and  in  adding,  what  you  can  by  no  means  deny, 
that  you  chose  that  place  in  order  that  the  man  who  said 
that  he  was  a  Eoman  citizen  might  be  able  from  his  cross 
to  behold  Italy  and  to  look  towards  his  own  home  ?  And 
accordingly,  O  judges,  that  cross,  for  the  first  time  since 
the  foundation  of  Messana,  was  erected  in  that  place.  A 
spot  commanding  a  view  of  Italy  was  picked  out  by  that 


480  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Cicebo 

man,  for  the  exj^ress  purpose  that  the  wretched  man  who 
was  dying  in  agony  and  torture  might  see  that  the  rights 
of  liberty  and  slavery  were  only  separated  by  a  very 
narrow  strait,  and  that  Italy  might  behold  her  son  mur- 
dered by  the  most  miserable  and  most  painful  punishment 
appropriate  to  slaves  alone. 

It  is  a  crime  to  bind  a  Roman  citizen ;  to  scourge  him 
is  a  wickedness ;  to  put  him  to  death  is  almost  parricide. 
What  shall  I  say  to  crucifying  him  ?  So  guilty  an  action 
cannot  by  any  possibility  be  adequately  expressed  by  any 
name  bad  enough  for  it.  Yet  with  all  this  that  man  was 
not  content.  "  Let  him  behold  his  country,"  said  he  ;  "  let 
him  die  within  sight  of  laws  and  liberty."  It  was  not 
Gavius,  it  was  not  one  individual,  I  know  not  whom, — it 
was  not  one  Roman  citizen, — it  was  the  common  cause  of 
freedom  and  citizenship  that  you  exposed  to  that  torture 
and  nailed  on  that  cross.  But  now  consider  the  audacity 
of  the  man.  Do  not  you  think  that  he  was  indignant  that 
he  could  not  erect  that  cross  for  Roman  citizens  in  the 
forum,  in  the  comitium,  in  the  very  rostra  ?  For  the  place 
in  his  province  which  was  most  like  those  places  in  celebrity, 
and  the  nearest  to  them  in  point  of  distance,  he  did  select. 
He  chose  that  monument  of  his  wickedness  and  audacity 
to  be  in  the  sight  of  Italy,  in  the  very  vestibule  of  Sicily, 
within  sight  of  all  passers-by  as  they  sailed  to  and  fro. 

If  I  were  to  choose  to  make  these  complaints  and  to 
utter  these  lamentations,  not  to  Roman  citizens,  not  to  any 
friends  of  our  city,  not  to  men  who  had  heard  the  name 
of  the  Roman  people, — if  I  uttered  them  not  to  men,  but 
to  beasts, — or  even,  to  go  further,  if  I  uttered  them  in 
some  most  desolate  wilderness  to  the  stones  and  rocks, 
still  all  things,  mute  and  inanimate  as  they  might  be, 
would  be  moved  by  such  excessive,  by  such  scandalous 
atrocity  of  conduct.    But  now,  when  I  am  speaking  before 


CiCKRo]  THE   CRUELTY  OF  VERRES.  48 1 

senators  of  the  Eoman  people,  the  authors  of  the  hiws,  of 
the  courts  of  justice,  and  of  all  right,  I  ought  not  to  fear 
that  that  man  will  not  be  judged  to  be  the  only  Eoman 
citizen  deserving  of  that  cross  of  his,  and  that  all  others 
will  not  be  judged  most  undeserving  of  such  a  danp-er.  A 
little  while  ago,  O  judges,  we  did  not  restrain  our  tears 
at  the  miserable  and  most  unworthy  death  of  our  naval 
caj^tains;  and  it  was  right  for  us  to  be  moved  at  the  misery 
of  our  innocent  allies ;  what  now  ought  we  to  do  when  the 
lives  of  our  relations  are  concerned  ?  For  the  blood  of  all 
Eoman  citizens  ought  to  be  accounted  kindred  blood,  since 
the  consideration  of  the  common  safety,  and  truth,  require 
it.  All  the  Eoman  citizens  in  this  place,  both  those  Avho 
are  present,  and  those  who  are  absent  in  distant  lands, 
require  your  severity,  implore  the  aid  of  your  good  faith, 
look  anxiously  for  your  assistance.  They  think  that  all 
their  privileges,  all  their  advantages,  all  their  defences,  in 
short  their  whole  liberty,  depend  on  your  sentence.  From 
me,  although  they  have  already  had  aid  enough,  still,  if 
the  affair  should  turn  out  ill,  they  will  perhaps  have  more 
than  they  venture  to  ask  for.  For  even  though  any  vio- 
lence should  snatch  that  man  from  your  severity,  Avhieh 
I  do  not  fear,  O  judges,  nor  do  I  think  it  by  any  means 
possible;  still,  if  my  expectations  should  in  this  deceive 
me,  the  Sicilians  will  complain  that  their  cause  is  lost,  and 
they  will  be  as  indignant  as  I  shall  myself;  yet  the  Eoman 
people,  in  a  short  time,  since  it  has  given  me  the  power  of 
pleading  before  them,  shall  through  my  exertions  recover 
its  rights  by  its  own  votes  before  the  beginning  of  Feb- 
ruary. And  if  you  have  any  anxiety,  O  judges,  for  my 
honor  and  for  my  renown,  it  is  not  unfavorable  for  my 
interests  that  that  man,  having  been  saved  from  me  at 
this  trial,  should  be  reserved  for  that  decision  of  the 
Eoman  people.  The  cause  is  a  splendid  one,  one  easily  to 
I.— v      ff  41 


482  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Livr 

be  proved  by  me,  very  acceptable  and  agreeable  to  the 
Eoman  people.  Lastly,  if  I  seem  here  to  have  Avished  to 
rise  at  the  expense  of  that  one  man,  which  I  have  not 
wished, — if  he  should  be  acquitted  (a  thing  which  cannot 
happen  without  the  wickedness  of  many  men),  I  shall  be 
enabled  to  rise  at  the  expense  of  many. 

But  in  truth,  for  your  sake,  0  judges,  and  for  the  sake 
of  the  republic,  I  should  grieve  that  such  a  crime  was 
committed  by  this  select  bench  of  judges.  I  should  grieve 
that  those  judges,  whom  I  have  myself  approved  of  and 
joined  in  selecting,  should  walk  about  in  this  city  branded 
with  such  disgrace,  by  that  man  being  acquitted,  as  to 
seem  smeared  not  with  wax*  but  with  mud. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  LAKE  TRASIMENUS. 

LIVY. 

[To  the  selection  already  made  from  Livy's  "  History  of  Kome" 
may  be  added  the  following,  descriptive  of  the  early  movements  and 
the  first  victory  of  Hannibal  after  his  celebrated  passage  of  the  Alps. 
It  is  of  interest  as  showing  the  superstition  of  the  Romans.  The  prodi- 
gies which  Livy  recounts  in  every  chapter  are  superlatively  abundant 
in  this.     The  translation  is  that  of  Spillan  and  Edmonds.] 

Spring  was  now  at  hand,  when  Hannibal  quitted  his 
winter  quarters,  having  both  attempted  in  vain  to  cross 
the  Apennines,  from  the  intolerable  cold,  and  having  re- 
mained with  great  danger  and  alarm.  The  Gauls,  whom 
the  hope  of  jilunder  had  collected,  when,  instead  of  being 

*This  refers  to  the  tablets  on  which  the  judges  signified  their  de- 
cision, which  were  covered  with  wax. 


LiVY]         THE  BATTLE  OF  LAKE   TRASIMENUS.  483 

themselves  engaged  in  collecting  and  driving  away  booty 
from  the  fields  of  others,  they  saw  their  own  lands  made 
the  seat  of  war,  and  burdened  by  the  wintering  of  the 
armies  of  both  parties,  turned  their  hatred  back  again 
from  the  Eomans  upon  Hannibal ;  and  though  plots  were 
frequently  concerted  against  him  by  their  chieftains,  he 
was  preserved  by  the  treachery  they  manifested  towards 
each  other, — disclosing  their  conspiracy  with  the  same  in- 
consistency with  which  they  had  conspired;  and  by  chang- 
ing sometimes  his  dress,  at  other  times  the  fashion  of  his 
hair,  he  protected  himself  from  treachery  by  deception. 
However,  this  fear  was  the  cause  of  his  more  speedily 
quitting  his  winter  quarters.  Meanwhile  Cneius  Servilius, 
the  consul,  entered  upon  his  office  at  Eome,  on  the  ides  of 
March.  There,  when  he  had  consulted  the  senate  on  the 
state  of  the  republic  in  general,  the  indignation  against 
Flaminius  was  rekindled.  .  .  . 

Prodigies  announced  from  many  places  at  the  same  time 
augmented  the  terror :  in  Sicily,  that  several  darts  belong- 
ing to  the  soldiers  had  taken  fire ;  and  in  Sardinia,  that  the 
staff  of  a  horseman,  who  was  going  his  rounds  upon  a 
wall,  took  fire  as  he  held  it  in  his  hand ;  that  the  shores 
had  blazed  with  fi-equent  fires ;  that  two  shields  had 
sweated  blood  at  Prteneste  ;  that  red-hot  stones  had  fallen 
from  the  heavens  at  Arpi ;  that  shields  were  seen  in  the 
heavens,  and  the  sun  fighting  with  the  moon,  at  Capena ; 
that  two  moons  rose  in  the  daytime ;  that  the  waters  of 
Caere  had  flowed  mixed  Avith  blood ;  and  that  even  the' 
fountain  of  Hercules  had  flowed  sprinkled  with  spots  of 
blood.  In  the  territory  of  Antium,  that  bloody  ears  of 
corn  had  fallen  into  the  basket  as  they  were  reaping.  At 
Falerii,  that  the  heavens  appeared  cleft  as  if  with  a  great 
chasm,  and  that  where  it  liad  opened,  a  vast  light  had 
shone  forth  ;  that  the  prophetic  tablets  had  spontaneously 


484  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [LivY 

become  loss ;  and  that  one  had  fallen  out  thus  inscribed, 
"  JMars  shakes  his  spear."  During  the  same  time,  that  the 
statue  of  Mars  at  Rome,  on  the  Appian  Way,  had  sweated 
at  the  sight  of  images  of  wolves.  At  Capua,  that  there 
had  been  the  appearance  of  the  heavens  being  on  fire,  and 
of  the  moon  as  falling  amidst  rain.  After  these,  credit  was 
given  to  prodigies  of  less  magnitude :  that  the  goats  of 
certain  persons  had  borne  wool ;  that  a  hen  had  changed 
herself  into  a  cock ;  and  a  cock  into  a  hen.  These  things 
having  been  laid  before  the  senate  as  reported,  the  consul 
took  the  sense  of  the  fathers  on  religious  affairs. 

It  was  agreed  that  these  prodigies  should  be  expiated, 
partly  with  full-grown,  partly  with  sucking  victims,  and 
that  a  supplication  should  be  made  at  every  shrine  for  the 
space  of  three  days ;  that  the  other  things  should  be  done 
accordingly  as  the  gods  should  declare  in  their  oracles  to 
be  agreeable  to  their  will  when  the  decemviri  had  exam- 
ined the  books.  By  the  advice  of  the  decemviri  it  was 
decreed,  first,  that  a  golden  thunderbolt  of  fifty  pounds 
weight  should  be  made  as  an  offering  to  Jupiter ;  that  of- 
ferings of  silver  should  be  presented  to  Juno  and  Minerva ; 
that  sacrifices  of  full-grown  victims  should  be  offered  to 
Juno  Regina  on  the  Aventine,  and  to  Juno  Sosj)ita  at 
Lanuvium ;  that  the  matrons,  contributing  as  much  money 
as  might  be  convenient  to  each,  should  carry  it  to  the 
Aventine,  as  a  present  to  Juno  Regina ;  and  that  a  lecti- 
sternium  should  be  celebrated ;  moreover,  that  the  very 
freed- women  should,  according  to  their  means,  contribute 
money  from  which  a  present  might  be  made  to  Feronia. 
When  these  things  were  done,  the  decemviri  sacrificed 
with  the  larger  victims  in  the  forum  at  Ardea.  Lastly,  it 
being  now  the  month  of  December,  a  sacrifice  was  made 
at  the  temple  of  Saturn  at  Rome,  and  a  lectisternium 
ordered,    in   which   senators   prepared   the   couch   and    a 


LivY]         THE  BATTLE  OF  LAKE    TRASIMENUS.  485 

public  banquet.  Proclamation  was  made  through  the  city, 
that  the  Saturnalia  should  be  kept  for  a  day  and  a  night, 
and  the  people  Avere  commanded  to  account  that  day  a 
holiday,  and  observe  it  forever. 

While  the  consul  employs  himself  at  Eome  in  appeasing 
the  gods  and  holding  the  levy,  Hannibal,  setting  out  from 
his  winter  quarters,  because  it  was  reported  that  the  consul 
Flaminius  had  now  arrived  at  Arretium,  although  a  longer 
but  more  commodious  route  was  pointed  out  to  him,  takes 
the  nearer  road  through  a  marsh  where  the  Arno  had 
more  than  usual  overflowed  its  banks.  He  ordei-ed  the 
Spaniards  and  Africans  (in  these  lay  the  strength  of  his 
veteran  army)  to  lead,  their  own  baggage  being  intermixed 
with  them,  lest,  being  compelled  to  halt  anywhere,  they 
should  want  what  might  be  necessary  for  their  use :  the 
Gauls  he  ordered  to  go  next,  that  they  might  form  the 
middle  of  the  marching  body ;  the  cavalry  to  march  in 
the  rear;  next  Mago,  with  the  light-armed  Numidians  to 
keep  the  army  together,  particularly  coercing  the  Clauls, 
if,  fatigued  with  exertion  and  the  length  of  the  march,  as 
that  nation  is  wanting  in  vigor  for  such  exertions,  they 
should  fall  away  or  halt. 

The  van  still  followed  the  standards  wherever  the  guides 
did  but  lead  them,  through  the  exceedingly  deep  and  almost 
fathomless  eddies  of  the  river,  nearly  swallowed  up  in  mud, 
and  plunging  themselves  in.  The  Gauls  could  neither 
support  themselves  when  fallen,  nor  raise  themselves  from 
the  eddies.  Nor  did  they  sustain  their  bodies  with  spirit, 
nor  their  minds  with  hope ;  some  scarce  dragging  on  their 
wearied  limbs;  others  dying  where  they  had  once  fallen, 
their  spirits  being  subdued  with  fatigue,  among  the  beasts, 
which  themselves  also  lay  prostrate  in  every  place.  But 
chiefly  watching  wore  them  out,  endured  now  for  four 
nights  and  three  days.  When,  the  water  covering  every 
I.  41* 


486  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Livy 

place,  not  a  dry  sj^ot  could  be  found  where  they  might 
stretch  their  weary  bodies,  they  laid  themselves  down 
upon  their  baggage,  thrown  in  heaps  into  the  waters. 
Piles  of  beasts,  which  lay  everywhere  throughout  the 
whole  route,  aiforded  a  necessary  bed  for  temporary  rejjose 
to  those  seeking  any  place  which  was  not  under  water, 
Hannibal  himself,  riding  on  the  only  remaining  elephant,  to 
be  the  higher  from  the  water,  contracted  a  disorder  in  his 
eyes,  at  first  from  the  unwholesomeness  of  the  vernal  air, 
which  is  attended  with  transitions  from  heat  to  cold  ;  and 
at  length,  from  watching,  nocturnal  damps,  the  marshy 
atmosphere  disordering  his  head,  and  because  he  had 
neither  ojsportunity  nor  leisui'e  for  remedies,  loses  one  of 
them. 

Many  men  and  animals  having  been  lost  thus  wretchedly, 
when  at  length  he  had  emerged  from  the  marshes  he  pitched 
his  camp  as  soon  as  he  could  on  dry  ground.  And  here  he 
received  information,  through  the  scouts  sent  in  advance, 
that  the  Roman  army  was  round  the  walls  of  Arretium. 
Next  the  plans  and  temper  of  the  consul,  the  situation  of 
the  country,  the  roads,  the  sources  from  which  provisions 
might  be  obtained,  and  whatever  else  it  was  useful  to  know; 
all  these  things  he  ascertained  by  the  most  diligent  inquiry. 
The  country  was  among  the  most  fertile  of  Italy,  the  plains 
of  Etruria,  between  Fa^sulse  and  Arretium,  abundant  in  its 
supply  of  corn,  cattle,  and  every  other  requisite. 

The  consul  was  haughty  from  his  former  consulships, 
and  felt  no  proper  degree  of  reverence  not  only  for  the 
laws  and  the  majesty  of  the  fathers,  but  even  for  the  gods. 
This  temerity,  innocent  in  its  nature,  fortune  had  fostered 
by  a  career  of  prosperity  and  success  in  civil  and  military 
affairs.  Thus  it  was  sufficiently  evident  that,  heedless  of 
gods  and  men,  he  would  act  in  all  cases  with  presumption 
and  precipitation ;  and,  that  he  might  fall  the  more  readily 


Livy]       the  battle  of  lake  TRASIMENUS.         487 

into  the  errors  natural  to  him,  the  Carthaginian  begins  to 
fret  and  irritate  him ;  and,  leaving  the  enemy  on  the  left, 
he  takes  the  road  to  Fsesulse,  and,  marching  through  the 
centre  of  Etruria,  with  intent  to  plunder,  he  exhibits  to 
the  consul,  in  the  distance,  the  greatest  devastation  he 
could  with  fii-es  and  slaughters. 

Flaminius,  who  would  not  have  rested  even  if  the  enemy- 
had  remained  quiet,  then  indeed,  when  he  saw  the  prop- 
erty of  the  allies  driven  and  carried  away  almost  before  his 
eyes,  considering  that  it  reflected  disgrace  upon  him  that 
the  Carthaginians  were  now  roaming  at  large  through  the 
heart  of  Italy,  and  marching  without  resistance  to  storm 
the  very  walls  of  Eome,  though  every  other  person  in  the 
council  advised  safe  rather  than  showy  measures,  urging 
that  he  should  wait  for  his  colleague,  in  order  that,  joining 
their  armies,  they  might  carry  on  the  war  with  united 
courage  and  counsels,  and  that,  meanwhile,  the  enemy 
should  be  pi-evented  from  his  unrestrained  freedom  in 
plundering  by  the  cavalry  and  the  light-armed  auxiliaries, 
in  a  fury  hurried  out  of  the  council,  and  at  once  gave  the 
signal  for  marching  and  for  battle. 

"Nay,  rathei',"  says  he,  "let  us  lie  before  the  walls  of 
Arretium,  for  here  is  our  country,  here  our  household  gods. 
Let  Hannibal,  slipping  through  our  fingers,  waste  Italy 
through  and  through ;  and,  ravaging  and  burning  every- 
thing, let  him  arrive  at  the  walls  of  Eorac  ;  nor  let  us  move 
hence  till  the  fathers  shall  have  summoned  Flaminius  fi-om 
Arretium,  as  they  did  Camillus  of  old  from  Veil." 

While  reproaching  them  thus,  and  in  the  act  of  ordering 
the  standards  to  be  sjDeedily  pulled  up,  when  he  had  sprung 
upon  his  horse  the  animal  fell  suddenly,  and  threw  the 
unseated  consul  over  his  head.  All  the  by-standers  being 
alarmed  at  this  as  an  unhappy  omen  in  the  commencement 
of  the  affair,  in  addition  word  is  brought  that  the  standard 


488  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [LiVY 

could  not  be  pulled  up,  though  the  standard-bearer  strove 
with  all  his  force.  Flaminius,  turning  to  the  messenger, 
says,  "  Do  you  bring,  too,  letters  from  the  senate,  forbid- 
ding me  to  act?  Go,  tell  them  to  dig  up  the  standard, 
if,  through  fear,  their  hands  are  so  benumbed  that  they 
cannot  pluck  it  up."  Then  the  army  began  to  march  ;  the 
chief  officers,  besides  they  that  dissented  from  the  plan, 
being  terrified  by  the  twofold  prodigy,  while  the  soldiery 
in  general  were  elated  with  the  confidence  of  their  leader, 
since  they  regarded  merely  the  hope  he  entertained,  and 
not  the  reasons  of  the  hope. 

Hannibal  lays  waste  the  country  between  the  city  Cor- 
tona  and  the  lake  Trasimenus  with  all  the  devastation  of 
war,  the  more  to  exasperate  the  enemy  to  revenge  the 
injuries  inflicted  on  his  allies.  They  had  now  reached  a 
place  formed  by  nature  for  an  ambuscade,  where  the  Tra- 
simenus comes  nearest  to  the  mountains  of  Cortona.  A 
very  narrow  passage  only  intervenes,  as  though  room 
enough  just  for  that  purpose  had  been  left  designedly; 
after  that  a  somewhat  wider  plain  opens  itself,  and  then 
some  hills  rise  up.  On  these  he  pitches  his  camp,  in  full 
view,  where  he  himself  with  his  Spaniards  and  Africans 
only  might  be  posted.  The  Baliares  and  his  other  light 
troops  he  leads  round  the  mountains ;  his  cavalry  he  posts 
at  the  very  entrance  of  the  defile,  some  eminences  con- 
veniently concealing  them ;  in  order  that  when  the  Ro- 
mans had  entered,  the  cavalry  advancing,  every  place 
might  be  enclosed  by  the  lake  and  the  mountains.  Fla- 
minius, passing  the  defiles  before  it  was  quite  daylight, 
without  reconnoitring,  though  he  had  arrived  at  the  lake 
the  preceding  day  at  sunset,  when  the  troops  began  to  be 
spread  into  the  wider  plain,  saw  that  part  only  of  the 
enemy  which  was  opposed  to  him ;  the  ambuscade  in  his 
rear  and  overhead  escaping  his  notice.      And  when  the 


Livy]         the  battle   of  LAKE    TRASIMENUS.  489 

Carthaginian  had  his  enemy  enclosed  by  the  lake  and 
mountains,  and  surrounded  by  his  troops,  he  gives  the 
signal  to  all  to  make  a  simultaneous  charge ;  and  each 
running  down  the  nearest  way,  the  suddenness  and  un- 
expectedness of  the  event  was  increased  to  the  Romans 
by  a  mist  rising  from  the  lake,  which  had  settled  thicker 
on  the  lake  than  on  the  mountains;  and  thus  the  troops 
of  the  enemy  ran  down  from  the  various  eminences,  suffi- 
ciently well  discerning  each  other,  and  therefore  with  the 
greater  regularity.  A  shout  being  raised  on  all  sides,  the 
Roman  found  himself  surrounded  before  he  could  well  see 
the  enemy;  and  the  attack  on  the  front  and  flank  had 
commenced  ere  his  line  could  be  well  formed,  his  arms 
prepared  for  action,  or  his  swords  unsheathed. 

The  consul,  while  all  wei'o  panic-struck,  himself  suffi- 
ciently undaunted  though  in  so  perilous  a  case,  marshals, 
as  well  as  the  time  and  place  permitted,  the  lines  which 
were  thrown  into  confusion  by  each  man's  turning  him- 
self towards  the  various  shouts;  and  wherever  he  could 
approach  or  be  heard,  exhorts  them,  and  bids  them  stand 
and  fight ;  for  that  they  could  not  escape  thence  by  vows 
and  prayers  to  the  gods,  but  by  exertion  and  valor ;  that 
a  way  was  sometimes  opened  by  the  sword  through  the 
midst  of  marshalled  armies,  and  that  generally  the  less 
the  fear  the  less  the  danger.  However,  from  the  noise 
and  tumult,  neither  his  advice  nor  command  could  be 
caught ;  and  so  far  were  the  soldiers  from  knowing  their 
own  standards,  and  ranks,  and  position,  that  they  had 
scarce  sufficient  courage  to  take  up  arms  and  make  them 
ready  for  battle  ;  and  certain  of  them  were  surprised  be- 
fore they  could  pi-epare  them,  being  burdened  rather  than 
protected  by  them ;  while  in  so  great  a  darkness  there 
was  more  use  of  ears  than  of  eyes.  They  turned  their 
faces  and  eyes  in  everj^  direction  towards  the  groans  of 


490  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [LivY 

the  wounded,  the  sound  of  blows  upon  the  body  or  arms, 
and  the  mingled  clamors  of  the  menacing  and  the  af- 
frighted. Some,  as  they  Avere  making  their  escape,  were 
stopped,  having  encountered  a  body  of  men  engaged  in 
fight;  and  bands  of  fugitives  returning  to  the  battle  di- 
verted others.  After  charges  had  been  attempted  unsuc- 
cessfully in  every  direction,  and  on  their  flanks  the  moun- 
tains and  the  lakes,  on  the  front  and  rear  the  lines  of  the 
enemy  enclosed  them,  when  it  was  evident  that  there  was 
no  hope  of  safety  but  in  the  right  hand  and  the  sword, 
then  each  man  became  to  himself  a  leader,  and  encourager 
to  action ;  and  an  entirely  new  contest  arose,  not  a  regu- 
lar line,  with  principes,  hastati,  and  triarii ;  nor  of  such 
a  sort  as  that  the  vanguard  should  fight  before  the  stand- 
ards, and  the  rest  of  the  troops  behind  them ;  nor  such 
that  each  soldier  should  be  in  his  own  legion,  cohort,  or 
company :  chance  collects  them  into  bands ;  and  each 
man's  own  will  assigned  to  him  his  post,  whether  to  fight 
in  front  or  rear ;  and  so  great  was  the  ardor  of  the  con- 
flict, so  intent  were  their  minds  upon  the  battle,  that  not 
one  of  the  combatants  felt  an  earthquake  which  threw 
down  large  portions  of  many  of  the  cities  of  Italy,  turned 
rivers  from  their  rapid  courseif  carried  the  sea  up  into 
rivers,  and  levelled  mountains  with  a  tremendous  crash. 

The  battle  was  continued  near  three  hours,  and  in  every 
quarter  with  fierceness ;  around  the  consul,  however,  it 
was  still  hotter  and  more  determined.  Both  the  strongest 
of  the  troops,  and  himself  too,  promptly  brought  assist- 
ance wherever  he  perceived  his  men  hard  pressed  or  dis- 
tressed. But,  distinguished  by  his  armor,  the  eneiny 
attacked  him  with  the  utmost  vigor,  while  his  countrymen 
defended  him ;  until  an  Insubrian  horseman,  named  Du- 
carius,  knowing  him  also  by  his  face,  said  to  his  country- 
men, "  Lo,  this  is  the  consul  who  slew  our  legions  and  laid 


LivT]         THE   BATTLE   OF  LAKE   TRASIMENVS.  491 

waste  our  fields  and  city.  Now  will  I  offer  this  victim  to 
the  shades  of  my  countrymen,  miserably  slain ;"  and,  put- 
ting spurs  to  his  horse,  he  rushes  through  a  very  dense 
body  of  the  enemy;  and  first  slaying  his  armor-bearer, 
who  had  opposed  himself  to  his  attack  as  ho  approached, 
ran  the  consul  through  with  his  lance ;  the  triarii,  oppos- 
ing their  shields,  kept  him  off  when  seeking  to  desjjoil 
him.  Then  first  the  flight  of  a  great  number  began ;  and 
novv  neither  the  lake  nor  the  mountains  obstructed  their 
hurried  retreat ;  they  run  through  all  places,  confined  and 
precipitous,  as  though  they  were  blind ;  and  arms  and 
men  are  tumbled  one  uj)on  another.  A  great  many,  when 
there  remained  no  more  space  to  run,  advancing  into  the 
water  through  the  first  shallows  of  the  lake,  plunge  in  as 
far  as  they  could  stand  above  it  with  their  heads  and 
shoulders.  Some  there  were  whom  inconsiderate  fear  in- 
duced to  try  to  escape  even  by  swimming ;  but  as  that 
attempt  was  inordinate  and  hopeless,  they  were  either 
overwhelmed  in  the  deep  water,  their  courage  failmg,  or, 
wearied  to  no  purpose,  made  their  way  back,  with  extreme 
difficulty,  to  the  shalloAvs,  and  there  were  cut  up  on  all 
hands  by  the  cavalry  of  the  enemy,  which  had  entered  the 
water.  Near  upon  six  thousand  of  the  foremost  body 
having  gallantly  forced  their  way  through  the  opposing 
enemy,  entirely  unacquainted  with  what  was  occurring  in 
their  rear,  escaped  from  the  defile ;  and  having  halted  upon 
a  certain  rising  ground,  and  hearing  only  the  shouting  and 
clashing  of  arms,  thej^  could  not  know  nor  discern,  by  reason 
of  the  mist,  what  was  the  fortune  of  the  battle.  At  length, 
the  aff'air  being  decided,  when  the  mist,  dispelled  by  the 
increasing  heat  of  the  sun,  had  cleared  the  atmosphere, 
then,  in  the  clear  light,  the  mountains  and  plains  showed 
their  ruin,  and  the  Roman  army  miserably  destroyed ;  and 
thus,  lest,  being  descried  at  a  distance,  the  cavalry  should 


492  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Josephus 

be  sent  against  them,  hastily  snatching  up  their  standards, 
they  hurried  away  with  all  possible  expedition.  On  the 
following  day,  when,  in  addition  to  their  extreme  suffer- 
ings in  other  respects,  famine  was  also  at  hand,  Maharbal, 
who  had  followed  them  during  the  night  with  the  whole 
body  of  cavalry,  pledging  his  honor  that  be  would  let  them 
depart  with  single  garments,  if  they  would  deliver  up  their 
arms,  they  surrendered  themselves ;  which  promise  was 
kept  by  Hannibal  with  Punic  fidelity,  and  he  threw  them 
all  into  chains. 

This  is  the  celebi'ated  battle  at  the  Trasimenus,  and 
recorded  among  the  few  disasters  of  the  Eoman  people. 
Fifteen  thousand  Romans  were  slain  in  the  battle.  Ten 
thousand,  who  had  been  scattered  in  the  flight  through 
all  Etruria,  returned  to  the  city  by  difterent  roads.  One 
thousand  five  hundred  of  the  enemy  perished  in  the  battle ; 
many  on  both  sides  died  afterwards  of  their  wounds.  The 
carnage  on  both  sides  is  related  by  some  authors  to  have 
been  many  times  greater.  Such  of  the  captains  as  belonged 
to  the  Latin  confederacy  being  dismissed  without  ransom, 
and  the  Eomans  thrown  into  chains,  Hannibal  ordered  the 
bodies  of  his  own  men  to  be  gathered  from  the  heaps  of 
the  enemy  and  buried ;  the  body  of  Flaminius,  too,  which 
was  searched  for  with  great  diligence  for  burial,  he  could 
not  find. 


THE  BURNING  OF  THE  TEMPLE. 

FLAVIUS    JOSEPHUS. 

[Flavius  Josephus,  the  celebrated  Jewish  historian,  born  at  Jerusa- 
lem 37  A.D.,  was  well  versed  alike  in  Greek  and  in  Hebrew  literature, 
and  his  first  work,  "  The  History  of  the  Jewish  War,"  wivs  written  both 


JosKPHUs]      THE  BURNING  OF  THE   TEMPLE.  493 

in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  though  only  the  Greek  version  is  extant.  He 
wrote  also  "Jewish  Antiquities,"  and  several  other  works.  His  style 
is  easy  and  eloquent,  and  displays  the  influence  of  the  Greek  authors. 
Josephus,  when  but  twenty-six  years  old,  w^as  sent  as  delegate  to  Nero 
at  Rome,  and  afterwards  vainly  endeavored  to  dissuade  his  country- 
men from  their  fatal  insurrection.  During  the  war  with  Rome  he 
bravely  defended  the  city  of  Jotopata.  After  the  capture  of  this  city 
he  remained  in  the  Roman  army  as  a  prisoner,  but  gained  the  favor  of 
Yespasian,  the  Roman  general,  and  accompanied  Titus  to  the  siege  of 
Jerusalem,  at  the  fall  of  which  cit}',  in  70  a.d.,  he  was  present.  The 
story  of  this  siege  he  gives  with  much  accuracy  and  animation.  We 
extract  from  Whiston's  translation  the  vivid  description  of  the  as- 
sault on  and  burning  of  the  temple,  one  of  the  greatest  disasters  in 
Jewish  historj'.  According  to  Josephus,  this  was  presaged  by  prodi- 
gies yet  more  surprising  than  those  related  by  Livy  in  the  last  article. 
The  belief  in  such  marvels  no  doubt  had  a  prominent  share  in  their 
appearance.] 

So  Titus  retired  into  the  tower  of  Antonio,  and  resolved 
to  storm  the  temple  the  next  morning  with  his  whole 
army,  and  to  encamp  round  about  the  hol}^  house.  But  as 
for  that  house,  God  had,  for  certain,  long  ago  doomed  it  to 
fire.  And  now  that  fatal  day  was  come  according  to  the 
revolution  of  ages ;  it  was  the  tenth  day  of  the  month 
Lous,  or  Ab ;  upon  which  it  was  formerly  burnt  by  the 
king  of  Babj'lon  :  although  these  flames  took  their  rise  from 
the  Jews  themselves  and  were  occasioned  by  them.  For 
upon  Titus's  retiring,  the  seditious  lay  still  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  attacked  the  Eomans  aijain :  when  those  that 
guarded  the  hol^^  house  fought  with  those  that  quenched 
the  tire  that  was  burning  the  inner  court  of  the  temple. 
But  these  Eomans  put  the  Jews  to  flight,  and  proceeded 
as  far  as  the  holy  house  itself  At  which  time  one  of  the 
soldiers,  without  waiting  for  any  orders,  and  without  any 
concern  or  dread  upon  him  at  so  great  an  undertaking, 
and  being  hurried  on  by  a  certain  divine  fury,  snatched 
I.  42 


494  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [JosErHUS 

something  out  of  the  materials  that  were  on  fire,  and, 
being  lifted  up  by  another  soldier,  he  set  fire  to  a  golden 
window,  through  which  there  was  a  passage  to  the  rooms 
that  were  round  about  the  holy  house  on  the  north  side 
of  it.  As  the  flames  went  upward,  the  Jews  made  a  great 
clamor,  such  as  so  mighty  an  affliction  required,  and  ran 
together  to  prevent  it.  And  now  they  spared  not  their 
lives  any  longer,  nor  suffered  anything  to  restrain  their 
force,  since  that  holy  house  was  perishing  for  whose  sake 
it  was  that  they  kept  such  a  guard  about  it. 

Now  a  certain  person  came  running  to  Titus  and  told 
him  of  this  fire,  as  he  was  rej)osing  in  his  tent  after  the 
last  battle ;  upon  which  he  arose  in  great  haste,  and  ran 
to  the  holy  house,  in  order  to  have  a  stop  put  to  the  fire. 
After  him  went  all  his  commanders,  and  after  them  fol- 
lowed the  several  legions,  in  great  astonishment.  So  there 
was  a  great  clamor  and  tumult  raised,  as  was  natural  upon 
the  disorderly  motion  of  so  great  an  army.  Then  did 
Caesar,  both  by  calling  to  the  soldiers  that  were  fighting, 
with  a  loud  voice,  and  by  giving  a  signal  to  them  with  his 
right  hand,  order  them  to  quench  the  fire.  But  they  did 
not  hear  what  he  said,  though  he  spake  so  loud ;  having 
their  ears  already  dinned  by  a  greater  noise  another  way. 
Nor  did  they  attend  to  the  signal  he  made  with  his  hand ; 
some  of  them  being  distracted  with  fighting,  and  others 
with  passion. 

But  as  for  the  legions  that  came  running  thither,  neither 
any  persuasion  nor  threatening  could  restrain  their  violence ; 
but  each  one's  own  passion  was  his  commander  at  this  time. 
And  as  they  were  crowding  into  the  temple  together  many 
of  them  were  trampled  on  by  one  another ;  while  a  great 
number  fell  among  the  ruins  of  the  cloisters,  which  were 
still  hot  and  smoking,  and  were  destroyed  in  the  same 
miserable  way  with  those  whom  they  had  conquered.    And 


JosEPHUs]      THE  BURNING  OF  THE   TEMPLE.  495 

"when  they  were  come  near  the  holy  house,  they  made  as 
if  they  did  not  so  much  as  hear  Caesar's  orders  to  the 
contrary,  but  they  encouraged  those  that  were  before  them 
to  set  it  on  fire.  As  for  the  seditious,  they  were  in  too 
great  distress  already  to  afford  their  assistance  towards 
quenching  the  fire.  They  were  everywhere  slain,  and 
every where.beaten.  And  as  for  a  great  part  of  the  people, 
they  were  weak  and  without  arms,  and  had  their  throats 
cut  wherever  they  were  caught.  Now  round  about  the 
altar  lay  dead  bodies,  heaped  one  upon  another ;  as  at  the 
stops  going  up  to  it  ran  a  great  quantity  of  their  blood, 
whither  also  the  dead  bodies  that  were  slain  above  on  the 
altar  fell  down. 

Now,  since  Cresar  was  noway  able  to  restrain  the  en- 
thusiastical  fury  of  the  soldiers,  and  the  fire  proceeded  more 
and  more,  he  went  into  the  holy  place  of  the  temple,  with 
his  commanders,  and  saw  it,  with  what  was  in  it ;  which 
he  found  to  be  far  superior  to  what  had  been  related  by 
foreigners,  and  not  inferior  to  what  we  ourselves  boasted 
of  and  believed  about  it. 

But  as  the  flame  had  not  as  yet  reached  to  its  inward 
parts,  but  was  still  consuming  the  rooms  that  were  about 
the  holy  house  only,  and  Titus,  supposing  that  the  house 
itself  might  yet  be  saved,  he  came  up  in  haste,  and  en- 
deavored to  persuade  the  soldiers  to  quench  the  fire,  and 
gave  order  to  Liberalius  the  centurion,  and  one  of  those 
spearsmen  that  were  about  him,  to  beat  the  soldiers  that 
were  refractory  with  their  staves,  and  to  restrain  them. 
Yet  were  their  passions  too  strong  for  the  regards  they 
had  for  Caesar,  and  the  dread  they  had  of  him  who  for- 
bade them ;  as  was  their  hatred  of  the  Jews  and  a  certain 
vehement  inclination  to  fight  them  too  hard  for  them  also. 
Moreover,  the  hope  of  plunder  induced  many  to  go  on ;  as 
supposing  that  all  the  places  within  were  full  of  money. 


496  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Josephus 

and  as  seeing  that  all  around  it  was  made  of  gold.  And, 
besides,  one  of  those  that  went  into  the  place  prevented 
Ca3sar,  when  he  ran  so  hastily  out  to  restrain  the  soldiers ; 
and  threw  the  fire  upon  the  hinges  of  the  gate,  in  the 
dark.  The  flame  now  burst  out  from  within  the  holy  house 
itself;  when  the  commanders  retired,  and  Caesar  with  them, 
and  when  nobody  any  longer  forbade  those  tha.t  were  with- 
out to  set  fire  to  it.  And  thus  was  the  holy  house  burnt 
down,  without  Ciesar's  approbation. 

Now,  although  any  one  would  justly  lament  the  destruc- 
tion of  such  an  edifice  as  this  was,  since  it  was  the  most 
admirable  of  all  the  buildings  we  have  seen  or  heard,  both 
for  its  curious  sti'ucture  and  its  magnitude,  and  also  for  the 
vast  wealth  bestowed  upon  it,  as  well  as  for  the  glorious 
reputation  it  had  for  its  holiness ;  yet  might  such  a  one 
comfort  himself  with  this  thought,  that  it  was  fate  that  so 
decreed  it  to  be ;  which  is  inevitable,  both  as  to  living 
creatures,  and  as  to  works  and  places  also.  However,  one 
cannot  but  wonder  at  the  accuracy  of  this  period  thereto 
relating.  For  the  same  month  and  day  were  now  observed, 
as  I  said  before,  wherein  the  holy  house  was  burnt  formerly 
by  the  Babylonians.  Now,  the  number  of  years  that 
elapsed  from  its  first  foundation  by  King  Solomon  till  this 
destruction,  which  happened  in  the  second  year  of  the 
reign  of  Vespasian,  are  computed  to  be  one  thousand  one 
hundred  and  thirty,  besides  seven  months  and  fifteen  days. 
And  from  the  second  building  of  it,  which  was  performed 
by  Haggai,  in  the  second  year  of  Cyrus  the  king,  till  its 
destruction  under  Vespasian,  there  were  six  hundred  and 
thirty-nine  years  and  forty-five  days. 

While  the  holy  house  was  on  fire  everything  was  plun- 
dered that  came  to  hand,  and  ten  thousand  of  those  that 
were  caught  were  slain.  Nor  was  there  a  commiseration 
of  any  ago,  or  any  reverence  of  gravity ;  but  children  and 


JosKPHUs]      THE  BURNING  OF  THE   TEMPLE.  497 

old  men,  priests  and  profane  persons,  were  all  slain  in  the 
same  manner.  So  that  this  war  affected  all  sorts  of  men, 
and  brought  them  to  destruction,  as  well  those  that  made 
supplication  for  their  lives  as  those  that  defended  them- 
selves by  fighting.  The  flame  was  also  carried  a  long  way, 
and  made  an  echo,  together  with  the  groans  of  those  that 
were  slain.  And  because  this  hill  was  high,  and  the  works 
at  the  temple  were  very  great,  one  would  have  thought 
the  whole  city  had  been  on  fire.  No  one  can  imagine  any- 
thing either  greater  or  more  terrible  than  this  noise.  For 
there  was  at  once  a  shout  of  the  Koman  legions,  who  were 
marching  all  together,  and  a  sad  clamor  of  the  seditious, 
who  were  now  surrounded  with  fire  and  sword.  The 
people  also  that  were  left  above  were  beaten  back  upon 
the  enemy,  and  under  a  great  consternation,  and  made  sad 
moans  at  the  calamity  they  were  under.  The  multitude 
that  was  in  the  city  joined  in  this  outcry  with  those  that 
were  upon  the  hill.  And  besides,  many  of  those  that  were 
worn  away  by  the  famine,  and  their  mouths  almost  closed, 
when  they  saw  the  fire  of  the  holy  house,  exerted  their 
utmost  strength,  and  broke  out  into  groans  and  outcries 
again.  Perea  also  did  return  the  echo,  as  well  as  the 
mountains  round  about  the  city,  and  augmented  the  force 
of  the  general  noise. 

Yet  was  the  misery  itself  more  terrible  than  this  dis- 
order. For  one  would  have  thought  that  the  very  hill 
on  which  the  temple  stood  was  red-hot,  as  full  of  fire  on 
every  part  of  it,  that  the  blood  was  larger  in  quantity 
than  the  fire,  and  those  that  were  slain  more  in  numbers 
than  those  that  slew  them.  For  the  ground  did  nowhere 
appear  visible  for  the  dead  bodies  that  lay  on  it,  but  the 
soldiers  went  over  heaps  of  those  bodies  as  they  ran  upon 
such  as  fled  from  them.  And  now  it  was  that  the  multi- 
tude of  the  robbers  were  thrust  out  of  the  inner  court  of 
i.—gg  42* 


498  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Josephus 

the  temple  by  the  Eomans,  and  had  much  ado  to  get  into 
the  outer  coui't,  and  from  thence  into  the  city ;  while  the 
remainder  of  the  populace  fled  into  the  cloister  of  that  outer 
court.  As  for  the  priests,  some  of  them  plucked  up  from 
the  holy  houses  the  spikes  that  were  upon  it,  with  their 
bases,  which  were  made  of  lead,  and  shot  them  at  the 
Eomans  instead  of  darts.  But  then,  as  they  gained 
nothing  by  so  doing,  and  as  the  fire  burst  out  upon  them, 
they  retired  to  the  wall,  that  was  eight  cubits  broad,  and 
there  they  tarried.  Yet  did  two  of  those  of  eminence 
among  them,  who  might  have  saved  themselves  by  going 
over  to  the  Eomans,  or  have  borne  up  with  courage  and 
taken  their  fortune  with  the  others,  throw  themselves  into 
the  fire,  and  were  burnt  together  with  the  holy  house. 
Their  names  were  Meirus,  the  son  of  Belgas,  and  Joseph, 
the  son  of  Daleus. 

Now  the  Eomans,  judging  that  it  was  in  vain  to  spare 
what  was  round  about  the  holy  house,  burnt  all  those 
places,  as  also  the  remains  of  the  cloisters  and  the  gates, 
two  excepted,  the  one  on  the  east  side  and  the  other  on 
the  south : — both  of  which,  however,  they  burnt  after- 
ward. They  also  burnt  down  the  treasuiy  chambers,  in 
which  was  an  immense  quantity  of  money,  and  a  great 
number  of  garments  and  other  j)recious  goods.  And,  in 
a  word,  there  it  was  that  the  entire  riches  of  the  Jews 
were  heaped  up  together,  while  the  rich  people  had  there 
built  themselves  chambers  to  contain  such  furniture.  The 
soldiers  also  came  to  the  rest  of  the  cloisters  that  were  in 
the  outer  court  of  the  temple,  whither  the  women  and 
children  and  a  mixed  multitude  of  the  jjeople  fled,  in  num- 
ber about  six  thousand.  But  before  Cajsar  had  determined 
anything  about  these  j)eople,  or  given  the  commanders 
any  orders  relating  to  them,  the  soldiers  were  in  such  a 
rage  that  they  set  that  cloister  on  fire.     By  which  means 


JosEPHUs]      THE  BURNING    OF  THE   TEMPLE.  499 

some  of  these  were  destroyed  by  throwing  themselves  down 
headlong,  and  some  were  burnt  in  the  cloisters  themselves. 
Nor  did  any  of  them  escape  with  their  lives. 

A  false  j)rophet  was  the  occasion  of  this   people's  de- 
struction, who  had  made  a  public  proclamation  in  the  city, 
that  very  day,  that  "  God  commanded  them  to  get  upon  the 
temple,  and  that  they  should  there  receive  miraculous  signs 
of  their  deliverance."  .  .  .  Thus  were  the  miserable  people 
persuaded  by  these  deceivers,  and  such  as  belied  Grod  him- 
self; while  they  did  not  attend  nor  give  credit  to  signs 
that  were  so   evident,  and  which   plainly  foretold   their 
future  desolation.    But,  like  men  infatuated,  without  either 
eyes  to  see  or  minds  to  consider,  they  did  not  regard  the 
denunciations  that  God  made  to  them.     Thus  there  was  a 
star  resembling  a  sword,  which  stood  over  the  city,  and  a 
comet  that  continued  a  whole  year.     Thus  also  before  the 
Jews'  rebellion,  and  before  those  commotions  that  preceded 
the  war,  when  the  j)eople  were  come  in  great  crowds  to 
the  feast  of  unleavened  bread,  on  the  eighth  day  of  the 
month  Xanthicus,  or  Nisan,  and  the  ninth  hour  of  the 
night,  so  great  a  light  shone  round  the  altar  and  the  holy 
house  that  it  apjDeared  to  be  bright  day  for  the  space  of 
half  an  hour.     This  light  seemed  to  be  a  good  sign  to  the 
unskilful,  but  was  so  interpreted  by  the  sacred  scribes  as 
to  portend  those  events  that  followed  immediately  upon  it. 
At  the  same  festival  also  a  heifer,  as  she  was  led  by  the 
high  priest  to  be  sacrificed,  brought  forth  a  lamb  in  the 
midst  of  the  temple.     Moreover,  the  eastern  gate  of  the 
inner  court  of  the  temple,  which  was  of  brass,  and  vastly 
heavy,  and  had  been  with  difficulty  shut  by  twenty  men, 
and  rested  upon  a  basis  armed  with  iron,  and  had  bolts 
fastened  very  deep   into  the  firm  fioor,  which  was  there 
made  of  one  entire  stone,  was  seen  to  open  of  its  own 
accord,  about  the  sixth  hour  of  the  night.     JSTow,  those 


500  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Josephus 

that  kept  watch  within  the  temple  came  hereupon  running 
to  the  captain  of  the  temj)le  and  told  him  of  it,  who  then 
came  up  thither,  and  not  without  great  difficulty  was  able 
to  shut  the  gate  again.  This  also  apj)eared  to  the  vulgar 
to  be  a  very  happy  prodigy,  as  if  God  did  thereby  open 
them  the  gate  of  happiness.  But  the  men  of  learning 
understood  it,  that  the  security  of  their  holy  house  was 
dissolved  of  its  own  accord,  and  that  the  gate  was  opened 
for  the  advantage  of  their  enemies.  So  these  publicly 
declared  that  the  signal  foreshadowed  the  desolation  that 
was  coming  upon  them. 

Besides  these,  a  few  days  after  that  feast,  on  the  one-and- 
twentieth  day  of  the  month  Artemisius,  or  Jyar,  a  certain 
prodigious  and  incredible  phenomenon  appeared :  I  suppose 
the  account  of  it  would  seem  incredible,  were  it  not  related 
by  those  that  saw  it,  and  were  not  the  events  that  followed 
of  so  considerable  a  nature  as  to  deserve  such  signals. 
For  before  sunsettiug,  chariots,  and  troops  of  soldiers  in 
their  armor,  were  seen  running  about  among  the  clouds, 
and  surrounding  of  cities.  Moreover,  at  the  feast  which 
we  call  Pentecost,  as  the  priests  were  going  by  night  into 
the  inner  court  of  the  temple,  as  their  custom  was,  to  per- 
form their  sacred  ministrations,  they  said  that  in  the  first 
place  they  felt  a  quaking  and  heard  a  great  noise,  and 
after  that  they  heard  a  sound,  as  of  a  multitude,  saying, 
"  Let  us  remove  hence." 

But,  what  is  still  more  terrible,  there  was  one  Jesus,  the 
son  of  Ananus,  a  plebeian,  and  a  husbandman,  who,  four 
years  before  the  war  began,  and  at  a  time  when  the  city 
was  in  very  great  peace  and  prosperity,  came  to  that  feast 
whereon  it  is  our  custom  for  every  one  to  make  tabernacles 
to  God  in  the  temple,  and  began  on  a  sudden  to  cry  aloud, 
"  A  voice  from  the  east ;  a  voice  from  the  west ;  a  voice 
from  the  four  winds ;  a  voice  against  Jerusalem  and  the 


JosEPHUs]      THE  BURNING  OF  THE   TEMPLE.  501 

holy  house ;  a  voice  against  the  bridegrooms  and  the  brides ; 
and  a  voice  against  this  whole  people."  This  was  his  cry, 
as  he  went  about  by  day  and  by  night  in  all  the  lanes  of 
the  city.  However,  certain  of  the  most  eminent  of  the 
populace  had  great  indignation  at  this  cry  of  his,  and  took 
up  the  man,  and  gave  him  a  great  number  of  severe  stripes. 
Yet  did  not  he  either  say  anything  for  himself,  or  anything 
peculiar  to  those  that  chastised  him,  but  still  went  on  with 
the  same  words  he  had  uttered  before.  Hereupon  our 
rulers,  supposing  this  was  a  sort  of  divine  fury  in  the 
man,  brought  him  to  the  Eoman  procurator,  where  he  was 
whipped  till  his  bones  wei'e  laid  bare.  Yet  did  not  he 
make  any  supplication  for  himself,  nor  shed  any  tears,  but, 
turning  his  voice  to  the  most  lamentable  tone  possible,  at 
every  stroke  of  the  whip  his  answer  was,  "  Woe,  woe  to 
Jerusalem  1"  And  when  Albinus  (for  he  was  then  our  pro- 
curator) asked  him  who  he  was,  whence  he  came,  and  why 
he  uttered  such  words,  he  made  no  manner  of  reply  to 
what  he  said,  but  still  continued  his  exclamations,  till 
Albinus  took  him  to  be  a  madman,  and  dismissed  him. 

Now,  during  all  the  time  that  passed  before  the  war 
began  the  man  did  not  go  near  any  of  the  citizens,  nor 
was  seen  by  them  while  he  said  so.  But  he  every  day 
uttered  these  lamentable  words,  as  if  it  were  his  premedi- 
tated vow,  "  Woe,  woe  to  Jerusalem !"  Nor  did  he  give  ill 
words  to  any  of  those  that  beat  him  every  day,  nor  good 
woi'ds  to  those  that  gave  him  food ;  but  this  was  his  reply 
to  all  men,  and,  indeed,  no  other  than  a  melancholy  presage 
of  what  was  to  come.  This  cry  of  his  was  the  loudest  at 
the  festivals,  and  he  continued  this  practice  for  seven  years 
and  five  months,  without  growing  hoarse  or  being  tired, 
until  the  very  time  that  he  saw  his  presage  in  earnest 
fulfilled  in  our  siege,  when  it  ceased.  For,  as  he  was  going- 
round  upon  the  wall,  he  cried  out  with  his  utmost  force, 


502  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.  [Josephus 

"Woe,  woe  to  the  city  again,  and  to  the  people,  and  to 
the  holy  house !"  And  just  as  he  added  at  the  last,  "  Woe, 
woe  to  myself  also !"  there  came  a  stone  out  of  one  of  the 
engines,  and  smote  him,  and  killed  him  instantly.  And  as 
he  was  uttering  the  very  same  presages  he  expired. 

j^ow,  if  any  one  consider  these  things,  he  will  find  that 
God  takes  care  of  mankind,  and  by  all  ways  possible  fore- 
shows to  our  race  what  is  for  their  preservation,  but  that 
men  perish  by  those  miseries  which  they  madly  and  vol- 
untarily bring  upon  themselves.  For  the  Jews,  by  demol- 
ishing the  tower  of  Antonia,  had  made  their  temple  four- 
square ;  while  at  the  same  time  they  had  it  written  in  their 
sacred  oracles  that  then  should  their  city  be  taken,  as 
well  as  their  holy  house,  when  once  their  temple  should 
become  four-square.  But  now  what  did  the  most  elevate 
them  in  undertaking  this  war  was  an  ambiguous  oracle, 
that  was  also  found  in  their  sacred  writings,  importing 
that  about  this  time  one  from  their  country  should  be- 
come governor  of  the  habitable  earth.  The  Jews  took 
this  prediction  to  belong  to  themselves  in  particular,  and 
many  of  the  wise  men  were  thereby  deceived  in  their 
determination.  Now,  this  oracle  certainly  denoted  the 
government  of  Vespasian,  who  was  appointed  emperor  in 
Judea.  However,  it  is  not  possible  for  men  to  avoid  fate, 
although  they  see  it  beforehand.  But  these  men  inter- 
preted some  of  these  signals  according  to  their  own  pleas- 
ure, and  some  of  them  they  utterly  despised,  until  their 
madness  was  demonstrated,  both  by  the  taking  of  their 
city  and  their  own  destruction. 


Theocritus]  FROM  THE  '^ IDYLS.''  503 


FROM  THE  "IDYLS." 

THEOCRITUS. 

[To  the  dramatic  extract  given  from  the  writings  of  the  Sicilian  poet 
Theocritus,  we  add  from  the  first  Idyl  an  example  of  his  pastoral  man- 
ner, a  delicious  fragment  of  bucolic  poetry,  in  which,  as  Edwin  Arnold, 
its  translator,  says,  "  the  pine  music  and  the  bubble  of  the  fountain 
whisper  and  tinkle  through  the  lines."] 

THTRSIS. 

Softly  the  sway  of  the  pine  branches  murmurs  a  melody, 
shepherd, 

Down  by  the  rim  of  the  fountain,  and  softly  dost  thou,  on 
the  Pan-pipes, 

Pipe  to  the  pines :  next  to  Pan  thou  bearest  the  bell  for 
rare  music. 

Say  that  he  wins  a  great-horned  goat,  then  thine  is  a  she- 
goat  ; 

Say  that  the  she-goat  is  his,  but  thine  is  the  kid,  then ;  and 
tender 

Savors  the  meat  of  a  kid,  till  she  comes  to  the  bearing 
and  milking. 

GOATHERD. 

Sweeter  I  call  thy  strain  than  the  tinkle  of  water  that 

trickles, 
Tinkling    and    trickling    and   rippling   adown   the   green 

shelves  of  the  mountain. 
If  we  must  grant  the  high  Muses  their  prize  from  the  pick 

of  the  wethers. 
Certainly  thine  is  a  ewe ;  or  if  a  ewe  pleases  their  fancy. 
Then  at  the  least  a  lamb  comes  to  thee  to  drive  to  thy 

sheep-folds. 


504  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Theocritus 

THYRSIS. 

Sit  thee  adown,  good  friend, — sit  down,  and  pijje  to  us, 

shepherd  I 
Here  where  the  side  of  the  hill  slopes  fair,  and  the  myrtles 

are  thickest, 
Blow  the  fine  music  out :  the  yearlings  can  pasture  around 

us. 

GOATHERD. 

Nay,  'twere  a  sin,  'twere  a  sin :  the  sun's  at  his  highest, 

my  Thyreis ; 
Pan  would  be  angered  to  hear  me — just  now  he  breaks  off 

from  hunting, 
Stretches  his  hairy  limbs  in  the  shade,  and  puffs  his  great 

nostrils. 
Panting,  and  surly  for  lack  of  breath,  and  longing  for 

slumber. 
You  now,  Thyrsis,  might  sing!  you  know  the  ballad  of 

Daj)hni8 : 
None  of  our  woodside  singers  have  half  such  a  trick  at  the 

measure. 
Crouch  we  here  under  these  elms,  on  the  grass  at  the  foot 

of  the  stone  god, 
Pacing  the  fountain,  and  looking  right  on  to  the  mountains 

and  meadows. 
Over  the  tops  of  the  oaks ;  and  if  you  sing  but  as  deftly 
As  you  did  once  on  the  day  when  Chromis  the  African 

dared  you. 
Look,  I'll  give  you  yon  she-goat,  the  dam  of  a  couple  of 

weanlings ; 
Udder  she  carries  for  both,  and  then  to  fill  two  of  thy 

milk-bowls. 
Her,  and  a  cup  cut  in  beech,  two-handled  and  polished 

with  beeswax, 


Theocritus]  FROM  THE  ''IDYLS."  505 

Clean  and  new,  with  the  smell  of  the  chisel  and  fresh 

wood  about  it ; 
All  round  its  rim,  on  the  top,  there  creeps  a  string  of 

ground-ivy, 
Twisted  and  tangled  with  woodbine,  while  here  and  there, 

in  the  circle. 
Tendrils  curl  and  clasp,  with  bunches  of  berries  among 

them. 
Outside  a  damsel  is  carved,  so  fair  the  gods  might  have 

wrought  hei', 
Neat  and  trim,  with  her  mantle  and  net,  and — this  hand 

and  that  hand — 
Two  youths,  both  long-haired,  both  comely,  contend  for 

her  favors 
Angrily.     Never  a  jot   cares   my   pretty  jade   for  their 

anger ! 
Sometimes  she  flings  a  smile  to  one,  and  frowns  to  his 

fellow, 
Sometimes  she  softens  to  t'other ;  and  there  they  stand  in 

the  beech  wood, 
Laughed  at,  but  mad  with  love, — half  teased,  half  pleased 

at  the  wanton. 
Next  a  fisherman  comes,  cut  out  on  a  rock,  and  its  ledges 
Jut  up  rough  and  stark :  the  old  boy,  done  to  a  marvel, 
Staggers   and   sweats  at  his  work,  just  like  a  fisherman 

hauling ; 
Looking  upon  it  you'd  swear  the  work  was  alive,  and  no 

l^icture. 
So  do  the  veins  knot  up  and  swell  in  his  neck  and  his 

shoulders. 
For,  though  he's  wrinkled  and  gray,  there's  stuif  left  yet 

in  the  ancient. 
Next  to  this  old  sea-dog  you  see  a  vino,  with  its  branches 
Heavy  with  globing  grapes :  a  little  lad  sits  by  a  thicket 
I. — TV  43 


506  BEST  FOREIGN  AUTHORS.         [Theocritus 

Guarding  the  grapes,  but  close  at  hand  two  foxes  come 

creeping  ; 
One  in  tlie  vineyard  munches  the  clusters,  one's  after  the 

wallet : 
Gods !  you  can  see  his  scheme :  he'll  keep  his  eye  on  the 

youngster 
Till  he  finds  a  chance  and  leaves  him  dinnerless.     Blind 

one, 
Why  do  you  sit  there  weaving  with  grasses  a  cage  for  your 

crickets, 
Plaiting  the  grasses,  and  wholly  forgetting  your  wallet  and 

dinner, 
Wholly   forgetting    your    grapes,   wrapped    up    in   those 

grasshopper-engines  ? 
All  the  work  in  this  cup's  filled  in  with  leaves  of  acanthus; 
'Tis  an  jEolic  thing,  and,  sooth,  of  a  wonderful  fancy. 
Sirs,  it  cost  me,  to  buy  of  the  Calydon  sailor,  a  big  cheese 
Made  of  snow-white  curds,  and  a  she-goat  into  the  bargain  ; 
Yet  it  has  touched  no  lip,  but  lies  this  while  in  my  cottage. 
See  now,  I  mean  it  for  you !  'tis  yours,  if  you  sing  us  that 

ditty 
Half  so  well  as  you  sang  it  before  to  the  Himera  shepherds. 
No  thanks!   do  but  sing! — there's  no  more  sunshine  nor 

sino-infj; 
Under  the  grass,  in  the  realm  of  the  dead,  where  all  is 

forgotten ! 


II^DEX  TO  YOL.  I. 


Adonis,  The  Lament  for,  Bion,  72. 
^SCHINES,    The    Oration    "  For    the 

Crown,"  346, 
iEscHYLUS,  Prometheus  Bound,  136. 
^sop,  Ancient  Fables,  181. 
Alc^us,  Poverty,  100. 

"  A  Convivial  Song,  101. 
Alexander  in  India,  Arrian,  45. 
Alexander,  Comparison  of  Philip  and, 

Justin,  437. 
Anacreon,  Lays  of  Love  and  Wine, 

158. 
Ancient  Fables,  ^sop  and  Phaedrus, 

181. 
Ancient    Gauls    and    Germans,    The, 

Caesar,  239. 
Ancient    Natural    History,    Man    in, 

Pliny  the  Elder,  128. 
Andrian,  The  Fair,  Terence,  246. 
Anthology,  Greek,  Various,  401. 
Antigone,  The  Condemnation  of,  Soph- 
ocles, 37. 
Antiphanes,  The  Parasite,  315. 
Antoninus,      Marcus,     Philosophical 

Wisdom,  322. 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  Plutarch,  303. 
Apollonius  IIhodius,  Jason  and  Me- 
dea, 367. 
Apuleius,  Praise  of  Poverty,  373. 
Archilochus,  Equanimity,  97. 

"  The  Turns  of  Fortune, 

98. 
"  The  Mind  of  Man,  98. 

"  Two  Military  Portraits, 

98. 
Archimedes,  The  Defence  of  Syracuse 

by,  Polybius,  361. 
Aristides,  Cornelius  Nepos,  431. 
Aristophanes,     Scene      from     "The 
Knights,"  200. 
"  Parabasis   from   "The 

Birds,"  205. 
Aristophanes,  Epitaph  on,  Plato,  106. 


Aristophon,  The  Pest  of  Love,  317. 
Aristotle,  Hymn  to  Virtue,  106. 

"  The  Conditions  of  Mental- 

ity, 273. 
"  Virtue  the  True  Source  of 

Happiness,  277. 
"  The    Disposition    of    the 

Rich,  279. 
Arrian,  Alexander  in  India,  45. 
Athenian  Eloquence,  Isocrates,  262. 
Athens,  The  Oratory  of,  Various,  258, 
Auction  of  Philosophers,  The,  Lucian, 
227. 


Babylon,  The  Capture   of,  by   Cyrus, 

Herodotus,  13. 
Battle  of  Cannffi,  The,  Annfeus  Florus, 

435. 
Battle  of  Jupiter  and  the  Giants,  The, 

Hesiod,  188. 
Battle  of  Lake  Trasimenus,  The,  Livy, 

482. 
Baucis  and  Philemon,  Ovid,  413. 
Bee  Community,  The,  Virgil,  226. 
BiON,  The  Lament  for  Adonis,  72. 
Bion,  Elegy  on  the  Death  of,  Moschus, 

390. 
Birds,  Parabasis  from  the,  Aristoph- 
anes, 205. 
BoETHius,  The   Instability   of  Fame, 
377. 
"  Wealth  is  not  Worth,  378. 

Burning  of  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem, 

The,  Josephus,  492. 

O. 

C^SAR,  The  Ancient  Gauls  and  Ger- 
mans, 239. 
Cajsar,    Characters    of    Pompey    and, 

Luean,  174. 
Callimachus,  Hymn  on  the  Bath  of 

Minerva,  425. 

507 


508 


INDEX  TO    VOL.  I. 


Cannae,  The  Battle  of,  Annseus  Florus, 
435. 

Capture  of   Babylon   by  Cyrus,  The, 
Herodotus,  13. 

Catullus,  To  Lesbia's  Sparrow,  338. 
"  Elegy  on  the  Sparrow,  339. 

"  To  the  Peninsula  of  Sirmio, 

339. 
"  To  Himself,  340. 

Characters,  Every-Day,  Theophrastus, 
385. 

Characters  of  Pompey  and  Caesar,  The, 
Lucan,  174. 

Charm  of  Homo  Life,  The,  Moschus, 
391. 

Cicero,  On  Old  Age,  28. 

"        From  the  "  Orations   against 
Verres,"  475. 

Cicero  and    Antony,   Velleius    Pater- 
culus,  433. 

Cleopatra,  Antony  and,  Plutarch,  303. 

Cluster  of  Odes,  A,  Horace,  53. 

Comedy  Remnants,  Various,  313. 

Comparison  of  Philip  and  Alexander, 
Justin,  437. 

Condemnation  of  Antigone,  The,  Soph- 
ocles, 37. 

Conditions  of  Mentality,  The,  Aristotle, 
273. 

Convivial  Song,  A,  Alcseus,  101. 

Correspondence   between    Darius   and 
Alexander,  Quintus  Curtius,  434. 

Creation  of  Pandora,  The,  Hesiod,  185. 

Crossing  the  Rubicon,  Lucan,  176. 

Curtius,  Quintus,  Correspondence  be- 
tween Darius  and  Alexander,  434. 

Cyrus,  The  Wisdom  of,  Plutarch,  446. 


Danae,    Lamentation    of,  Simonides, 

103. 
Darius    and   Alexander,    Correspond- 
ence between,  Quintus  Curtius,  434. 
Daughter   of    Virginius,    The,    Livy, 

286. 
Days  of  Plutus,  The,  Phereerates,  314. 
Death  of  Bion,  Elegy  on  the,  Moschus, 
390. 

"      of  Dido,  The,  Virgil,  215. 

"      of  His  Son,  On  the,  Quintilian, 
171. 

"      of  Patroelus,  The,  Homer,  116. 

"      of  Socrates,  The,  Plato,  64. 


Defence  of  Syracuse  by  Archimeaes, 

The,  Polybius,  361. 
Demosthenes,  The  Second  Olynthian 
Oration,  107. 
"  The  Oration  "  For  the 

Crown,"  346. 
Dialogues  of  the  Dead,  Lucian,  439. 
Dido,  The  Death  of,  Virgil,  215. 
Disposition  of  the  Rich,  The,  Aristotle, 

279. 
Dreams,  The  Realm  of,  Lucretius,  268. 
Duty   of   the  Youthful   Patriot,  The, 
Tyrtaeus,  99. 


£!. 


Eighth  Nemean  Ode,  From  the,  Pindar, 

302. 
Elegy  on  the  Sparrow,  Catullus,  339. 
Elevation  of  Thought,  Longinus,  77. 
Eloquence,  Athenian,  Isocrates,  262. 
Emperor  Titus,  The,  Suetonius,  332. 
End  of  Man,  The,  Stesiehorus,  100. 
Epic  Poetry,  Latin,  Various,  173. 
Epictetus,  Philosophical  Wisdom,  319. 
Epigrams,  A  Group  of.  Martial,  280. 
Epitaph  of  the  Spartan    Heroes,  Si- 
monides, 104. 
"        on  Aristophanes,  Plato,  106. 
Equanimity,  Archilochus,  97. 
Eratosthenes,      From      the     Oration 

against,  Lysias,  259. 
Eruption  of  Vesuvius,  The,  Pliny  the 

Younger,  206. 
Euripides,  Scene  from  the  "  Orestes," 

355. 
Every-Day  Characters,  Theophrastus, 

385. 

P. 

Fables,  Ancient,  ^sop  and  Phajdrus, 

181. 
Fair  Andrian,  The,  Terence,  246. 
Fall  of  Nero,  The,  Tacitus,  392. 
Fame,    The    Instability  of,   Boethius, 

377. 
First  Pythian  Ode,  From  the,  Pindar, 

295. 
Florus,  Ann^us,  The  Battle  of  Cannse, 

435. 
Folly  of  Anger,  The,  Seneca,  407. 
Fragments,  Lyric,  Various,  97. 
From  the  Idyls,  Theocritus,  602. 


INDEX  TO    VOL.  I. 


509 


From  the  "  Orations  against  Verres," 

Cicero,  475. 
Funeral  Oration,  From  the,  Hyperei- 

des,  266. 

a. 

Gauls  and  Germans,  The  Ancient, 
Caesar,  239. 

Gellius,  Aulus,  a  Philosopher's  An- 
swer, 375. 

Germans,  The  Ancient  Gauls  and, 
Csesar,  239. 

Greek  Anthology,  Various,  401. 

Growth  of  Luxury,  The,  Juvenal,  326. 


Happiest  Man,  The,  Menander,  318. 
Happiness,  Solon,  101. 

"  Virtue  the  True  Source  of, 

Aristotle,  277. 
Hector  and  Andromache,  Homer,  124. 
Herodotus,  The  Capture  of  Babylon 

by  Cyrus,  13. 
Hesiod,  The  Creation  of  Pandora,  185. 
"         The  Battle  of  Jupiter  and  the 
Giants,  188. 
Historical  Selections,  Various,  431. 
Home  Life,  The  Charm  of,  Moschus, 

391. 
Homer,  The  Death  of  Patroclus,  116. 
"        Hector  and  Andromache,  124. 
"        The  Night  Watch,  127. 
"        The  Meeting  of  Ulysses  and 
Penelope,  453. 
Hope,  Tibullus,  343. 
Horace,  A  Cluster  of  Odes,  63. 
Humor   of   Oratory,   The,  Quintilian, 

165. 
Hymn  on  the  Bath  of  Minerva,  Cal- 
limachus,  425. 
"       to  Virtue,  Aristotle,  106. 
Hypereides,  From  the  Funeral  Ora- 
tion, 266. 


Idleness,  The    Reproach    of,    Persius, 

379. 
Idyls,  From  the,  Theocritus,  602. 
India,  Alexander  in,  Arrian,  45. 
Instability  of  Fame,    The,    Boethius, 

377. 
Is^us,  From  the  Speech  on  the  Estate 

of  Dicisogenes,  264. 


IsocRATES,  Athenian  Eloquence,  262. 
"  From   the  Oration  to   De- 

monicus,  263. 

J. 

Jason  and  Medea,  Apollonius  Rhodius, 

367. 
JoSEPHus,  The  Burning  of  the  Temple 

at  Jerusalem,  492. 
Justin,   Comparison    of    Philip    and 

Alexander,  437. 
Juvenal,  The  Growth  of  Luxury,  325. 


"  Knights,  The,"  Scene  from,  Aristoph- 
anes, 200. 

L. 

Lake  Trasimenus,  The  Battle  of,  Livy, 

482. 
Lament  for  Adonis,  The,  Bion,  72. 
Lamentation  of  Danae,  Simonides,  103. 
Latin  Epic  Poetry,  Various,  173. 
Lays  of   Love   and  AVine,    Anacreon, 

158. 
Lesbia's  Sparrow,  To,  Catullus,  338. 
LiVY,  The  Daughter  of  Virginius,  286. 
"      The  Battle  of  Lake  Trasimenus, 
482. 
LoNGixus,  Elevation  of  Thought,  77. 
Love   and  Wine,  Lays  of,  Anacreon, 

158. 
Love's  EfiBgy,  Propertius,  345. 

"       Perplexities,  Moschus,  392. 
Lover's  Wish,  A,  Plato,  105. 
LucAN,  Characters  of  Caesar  and  Pom- 
pey,  174. 
"       Crossing  the  Rubicon,  176. 
LuciAN,  The  Auction  of  Philosophers, 
227. 
"         Dialogues  of  the  Dead,  439. 
Lucretius,  The  Realm  of  Dreams,  268. 
"  Primitive  Mankind,  270. 

"  In  Praise   of  Philosophy, 

272. 
Luxury,  The  Growth  of,  Juvenal,  325. 
Lyric  Fragments,  Various,  97. 
Lyrics,  Roman,  Various,  338. 
Lysias,    From    the    Oration    against 
Eratosthenes,  259. 

M. 

Man    in    Ancient    Natural    History, 
Pliny  the  Elder,  128. 


I. 


43* 


510 


INDEX  TO    VOL.  I. 


ft 


Mankind,  Primitive,  Lucretius,  270. 
Martial,  A  Group  of  Epigrams,  280. 
Mcdoa,  Jason  and,  ApoIIonius  Rbodius, 

367. 
Meeting  of  Ulysses  and  Penelope,  The, 

Homer,  453. 
Menander,  Words  of  Wisdom,  317. 
Woman  a  Plague,  318. 
Sleepless  Wealth,  318. 
The  Happiest  Man,  318. 
Mentality,  The  Conditions  of,  Aristotle, 

273. 
Military  Portraits,  Two,  Archilochus, 

98. 
Mind  of  Man,  The,  Archilochus,  98. 
Minerva,  Hymn  on  the  Bath  of,  Cal- 

limachus,  425. 
MoscHus,  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Bion, 
390. 
"         The  Charm  of   Home  Life, 

391. 
"        Love's  Perplexities,  392. 

N", 

Natural    History,    Man    in    Ancient, 

Pliny  the  Elder,  128. 
Nero,  The  Fall  of,  Tacitus,  392. 
Night- Watch,  The,  Homer,  127. 


Odes,  A  Cluster  of,  Horace,  53. 

Old  Age,  On,  Cicero,  28. 

Olympic  Ode,  From  the  Second,  Pindar, 

301. 
Olynthian  Oration,  The   Second,  De- 
mosthenes, 107. 
On  Anaci-eon,  Simonides,  104. 
On  a  Rural  Imago  of  Pan,  Plato,  105. 
On  a  Sleeping  Cupid,  Plato,  105. 
On  the  Death  of  his  Son,  Quintilian, 

171. 
Oration,   the   Second    Olynthian,   De- 
mosthenes, 107. 
"  against   Eratosthenes,  From 

the,  Lysias,  259. 
"  to     Demonicus,    From    the, 

Isocratos.  203. 
"  Funeral,    From   the,  Hypcr- 

eides,  266. 
"  for  the  Crown,  The,  ^schines 

and  Demosthenes,  346. 
"  against    Verres,    From    the, 

Cicero,  475. 
Oratory  of  Athens,  The,  Various,  258. 


Orestes,  Scene  from  the,  Euripides,  355. 
Ovid,  Baucis  and  Philemon,  413. 


Pan,  On  a  Rural  Image  of,  Plato,  105. 
Pandora,  The  Creation  of,  Hesiod,  185. 
Parabasis  from  "  The  Birds,"  Aristoph- 
anes, 205. 
Parasite,  The,  Antiphanes,  315. 
Paterculus,    Velleius,    Cicero    and 

Antony,  433. 
Patriot,  The   Duty  of   the   Youthful, 

Tyrtseus,  99. 
Patroclus,  The  Death  of,  Homer,  116. 
Peninsula  of  Sirmio,  To  the,  Catullus, 

339. 
Persius,  The   Pioproach   of  Idleness, 

379. 
Pest  of  Love,  The,  Aristophon,  317. 
Pii.EDRUS,  Ancient  Fables,  181. 
Pherecrates,    The   Days   of   Plutus, 

314. 
Philip  and  Alexander,  Comparison  of, 

Justin,  437. 
Philosopher's  Answer,  A,  Aulus  Gel- 

lius,  375. 
Philosopher's    Defence,    A,    Socrates, 

191. 
Philosophers,  The  Auction  of,  Lucian, 

227. 
Philosophical  AVisdom,  Epictetua  and 

Antoninus,  319. 
Philosophical    Consolations,   Various, 

373. 
Pindar,  From  the  First  Pythian  Ode, 
295. 
"         From   the   Second    Olympic, 

301. 
"         From    the    Eighth    Nemean, 
302. 
Plague  at  Athens,  The,  Thucydidcs,  90. 
Plato,  The  Death  of  Socrates,  64 

"        On  a  Rural  Image  of  Pan,  105. 

"        On  a  Sleeping  Cupid,  105. 

"        A  Lover's  Wish,  105. 

"        Epitaph  on  Aristophanes,  106. 
Plautus,  The  Pot  of  Gold,  83. 
Pliny  the    Elder,  Man  in    Ancient 

Natural  History,  128. 
Plixy  the  Younger,  The  Eruption  of 

Vesuvius,  206. 
Plutarch,  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  303. 
"  Themistocles    at    Salamis, 

462. 


INDEX   TO.   VOL.  I. 


511 


Poems  of  Passion,  Sappho,  235. 
Poetry,  Later  Epic,  Various,  173. 
PoLYBius,  The  Defence  of  Syracuse  by 

Archimedes,  361. 
Pompey    and    Caesar,    Characters    of, 

Lucan,  174. 
Pot  of  Gold,  The,  Plautus,  83. 
Poverty,  AIcecus,  100. 
Praise  of   Philosophy,  In,  Lucretius, 

272. 
Praise  of  Poverty,  Apuleius,  373. 
Praise  of  Rural  Life,  Virgil,  225. 
Primitive  Mankind,  Lucretius,  270. 
Procession,  A,  Stesichorus,  100. 
Prometheus  Bound,  J3schylus,  136. 
Propertius,  To  Cynthia,  344. 

"  Love's  Effigy,  345. 

Pythian  Ode,  From  the  First,  Pindar, 

295. 

Q. 

Qualifications  of  a  Ruler,  The,  Socra- 
tes, 197. 
QuiNTiLiAN,  The   Humor  of  Oratory, 
165. 
"  On  the  Death  of  his  Son, 

171. 


E. 

Realm  of  Dreams,  The,  Lucretius,  268. 
Reproach   of  Idleness,   The,   Persius, 

379. 
Retreat  of  the   Ten    Thousand,  The, 

Xenoph^jn,  145. 
Roman  Lyrics,  Various,  338. 
Rubicon,  Crossing  the,  Lucan,  176. 
Rural  Image  of  Pan,  On  a,  Plato,  105. 
Rural  Life,  Praise  of  a,  Virgil,  225. 


S. 

Salamis,  Themistocles  at,  Plutarch, 
462. 

Sallust,  a  Successful  Stratagem,  420. 

Sappho,  Poems  of  Passion,  235. 

Scene  from  "  The  Knights,"  Aristoph- 
anes, 200. 

Second  Olympic  Ode,  From  the,  Pindar, 
301. 

Second  Olynthian  Oration,  The,  De- 
mosthenes, 107. 

Seneca,  The  Folly  of  Anger,  407. 


SiMONiDES,  Lamentation  of  Danae,  103. 
"  Virtue,  104. 

"  On  Anacreon,  104. 

"  Epitaph    of    the    Spartan 

Heroes,  104. 
Sirmio,  To  the  Peninsula  of,  Catullus, 

339. 
Sleeping  Cupid,  On  a,  Plato,  105. 
Sleepless  Wealth,  Menander,  318. 
Socrates,   A    Philosopher's    Defence, 
191. 
"  The     Qualifications     of    a 

Ruler,  197. 
Socrates,  The  Death  of,  Plato,  64. 
Solon,  Happiness,  101. 
Sophocles,  The  Condemnation  of  An- 
tigone, 37. 
Spartan  Heroes,  Epitaph  of  the,  Si- 

monides,  104. 
Speech  on  the  Estate  of  Dicseogenes, 

Isaeus,  264. 
Statius,  From  the  Thebaid,  178. 
Stesichorus,  A  Procession,  100. 

"  The  End  of  Man,  100. 

Successful  Stratagem,  A,  Sallust,  420. 
Suetonius,  The  Emperor  Titus,  332. 
Syracusan  Gossips,  'The,  Theocritus,  21. 
Syracuse,   The  Defence  of  by  Archi- 
medes, Polybius,  361. 


T. 

Tacitus,  The  Fall  of  Nero,  392. 
Temple  at  Jerusalem,  The  Burning  of 

the,  Joscphus,  492. 
Ten    Thousand,  The    Retreat  of  the, 

Xenophon,  145. 
Terence,  The  Fair  Andrian,  246. 
Thebaid,  From  the,  Statius,  178. 
Themistocles  at  Salamis,  Plutarch,  462. 
Theocritus,   The   Syracusan  Gossips, 
21. 
"  From  the  Idyls,  502. 

Theognis,    The    Wanderer's     Return 

Home,  102. 
Theophrastus,  Every-Day  Characters, 

385. 
Thought,  Elevation  of,  Longinus,  77. 
Thucydides,  The  Plague  at  Athens,  90. 
TiBULLus,  To  Delia,  341. 

"  Hope,  343. 

To  Cynthia,  Propertius,  344. 
To  Delia,  Tibullus,  341. 
To  Himself,  Catullus,  340. 


512 


INDEX   TO    VOL.  I. 


To  Lesbia's  Sparrow,  Catullus,  338. 
To  the  Peninsula  of  Sirmio,  Catullus, 

339. 
Turns  of  Fortune,  The,  Archilochus,  98. 
Two  Military  Portraits,  Archilochus, 

98. 
TvRT^DS,  The  Duty  of  the  Youthful 

Patriot,  99. 

U. 

Ulysses   and   Penelope,  The  Meeting 
of,  Homer,  453. 


Various,  Comedy  Remnants,  313. 

"         Historical  Selections,  431. 

"         Latin  Epic  Poetry,  173. 

"         Lyric  Fragments,  97. 

"         Philosophical     Consolations, 
373. 

"        Roman  Lyrics,  338. 

"        The  Oratory  of  Athens,  258. 
Vesuvius,  The  Eruption  of,  Pliny  the 
Younger,  206. 


Virgil,  The  Death  of  Dido,  215. 

"         Praise  of  Rural  Life,  225. 

"         The  Bee  Community,  226. 
Virginius,  The  Daughter  of,  Livy,  286. 
Virtue,  Simonidcs,  104. 

"       Hymn  to,  Aristotle,  106. 

"       the  True  Source  of  Happiness, 
Aristotle,  277. 


W. 

Wanderer's  Return  Home,  The,  The- 

ognis,  102. 
Wealth  is  not  Worth,  Boethius,  378. 
Wisdom   of    Cyrus,    The,    Xenophon, 

446. 
Woman  a  Plague,  Menander,  318. 
Words  of  Wisdom,  Menander,  317. 


X. 

Xenophon,  The  Retreat   of  the   Ten 
Thousand,  145. 
"  The  Wisdom  of  Cyrus,  446. 


END   OP   VOL.   I. 


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